Triumph Out of the Bitter Taste of Ashes
by Kiristeen
Summary: 53 up. HG/SS,RW/DM Hermione is taken by deatheaters the first day of 7th year, setting in motion a series of events that changes everything. More in prologue. R for violence and adult sexual situations.
1. Prologue

Title: Triumph out of the Bitter Taste of Ashes  
Author: Kiristeen ke Alaya  
Series: nope  
Pairing: HG/SS, DM/HP  
Codes: Adult sexual situations, violence, sexual trauma, minor character deaths  
Rating: R  
Warnings: Story deals with the aftermath of rape, torture, and the violence of war. The rape itself is *not* graphically described, nor is this story intended to, by word or implication, glorify it. (The act itself is covered in one single sentence after it's over) For Lucius lovers, this story will not portray him in a good light. Some characters die.  
  
Setting: Takes place 7th year.   
  
Summary: Hermione is captured just prior to the final battle. Dumbledore and company, ready for the confrontation, arrive in time to destroy Voldemort, only to find Hermione is no longer there. No one seems to know where she went, or even if she's still alive. Her return brings surprises and troubles, changing everything.  
  
Disclaimer: I own nothing. JK Rowling, her publishers, and heirs do. I intend no disrespect nor copyright infringement with this story. It is purely a work of fanfiction.  
  
  
  
**********  
Prologue  
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Hermione whimpered as Malfoy pulled away, the glare of the September mid-day sun shining through her tightly clenched eyelids. Curling into a ball the moment he released her, his taunting, laughing voice and the stray wisps of white-blond hair she could see were the only clues to her rapist. For all that, she knew who he was, couldn't mistake him for anyone else. _I will not let him break me. I will not let him break me._ It was her mantra. It had become so hours ago, when the only thing she'd had to fight against was pain beyond imagining.   
  
At first, they'd asked questions, demanding she tell them everything she knew about Hogwart's security and Dumbledore's plans. _I don't know anything. I won't let him break me._ soon replaced the first mantra; she'd believe it if she said it enough, she was sure . . . sometime . . . _Let me believe it!_ she'd thought. _I don't know anything. I won't let him break me! He cannot break me!_  
  
She'd held out as long as she could against their torture, saying nothing they wanted to hear, the pain steadily growing until she'd thought dying would be better than living. An hour, two, with her telling herself, _I'll tell them something in a minute. I'll just hold out one more minute._ She'd read once that was how addicts got through the cravings for drugs. And, right now, she was an addict, she _craved_ surcease with every fiber of her being. Yes, she would have been grateful for the release of death, then.   
  
Three hours and her screams were incoherent. She'd begun speaking, her voice coarse and screeching. She'd started with the 'wrongs' she'd done before learning she was a witch, every little thing, real or imagined had come pouring out of her. She spoke as fast as she could, leaving no space for breath or betraying truths.  
  
It wasn't what they wanted, of course, her words doing nothing but angering her tormentors. She kept up the torrent of words, one after another, letting them all spill out, hoping against hope that they would create a wall between her, the pain, and what little she _did_ know. When she began to run out of wrongs to confess, she began making them up. She didn't dare stop. If she did, she was lost and she knew she would tell them what they wanted to know -- she would tell them anything to simply make it stop.  
  
Then they'd stopped, she wasn't sure why; maybe they'd decided she didn't know anything. Even so, the healing had come as a shock, the lessening of her agony a pain all its own. It hadn't been until the masked, hooded death-eater had kneeled between her legs that she'd realized why, and that contrary to her child-like whispered prayers, her torment was far from over.  
  
Her silent, useless tears had dried long ago; she had none left to cry.   
  
"Next," Malfoy called out tauntingly, several male voices responding, ringing out in laughter.  
  
_NO!_ Hermione screamed silently. Aloud, she whimpered, curling tighter. _Go away! Go away! Let . Me . Die!_  
  
A shout. Voices cursing. Hermione ignored it all, withdrawing into herself as much as she could, willing it all away. People running, their footfalls fading quickly. _Wait! Fading? They're leaving?_   
  
A choked sob escaped her as she tensed, waiting for the trick behind the trap to spring. They hadn't left. They were waiting for her to believe they had, then it would start all over again. Seconds ticked by, draining into minutes that passed like eternal hours.  
  
When the dreaded touch never came, when no one grabbed her, forcing her out of her ball, no one forced her legs apart, Hermione opened her tightly clenched eyelids, finally beginning to hope they were really gone. She squashed it down ruthlessly; hope was a weakness, a vulnerability she couldn't afford right now. To have it back and lose it again would be as effective as a dementor's kiss.  
  
_Gone! They're gone!_  
  
An explosion startled a screech out of her. It ripped open her raw throat, but this time the pain served to clear just the smallest portion of her mind and she forced her eyes to focus in the direction of the sound. Vivid flashes of colored light showed through the trees. _A fight,_ she thought. _There's fighting._ Slowly, what was happening filtered through her disorientation and terror. _Someone's attacking the death-eaters._ She'd been left behind and forgotten in the clamor. She could get away.  
  
"Yes," she croaked hoarsely. "Away. Get away."  
  
She rolled onto her hands and knees, her body aching with pain beyond agony. Muscles she hadn't been aware of until today violently protested every inch she gained toward the freedom she could almost taste. It tasted of the bitterness of bile, but it was _freedom_. She didn't try to rise to her feet. In truth, she didn't even think of trying; that was far too complicated. Crawl. She could crawl. She remembered crawling. She'd been able to do it for years.  
  
_So, why is it so hard, now?_  
  
Rocks, sticks, hard clumps of dirt: they all dug into her knees and palms. She didn't notice. They were simply more random shots of pain among many. Her breathing harsh and strained, she couldn't seem to draw in enough air. Panic radiated through her in nauseating waves. The world around her spun, her vision blurring briefly.   
  
She wasn't going to make it. She moved forward again. There wouldn't be enough time. And again. Surely the fighting was over by now. They'd be back any second and find her. She wasn't far enough away. She was still out in the open . . . exposed.  
  
She raised her head, staring straight ahead. The barely discernable tree line away from the fighting seem so far away, as far as the horizon, and just as unreachable. Her head dropped and she doggedly continued forward. She had to get away. She just had to. It would be bad if she didn't. They would make her _be_ bad.  
  
She didn't know how long she'd crawled before her arms buckled, tumbling her forward, but she lay there, breathing heavily. She had to get up. She had to move. She knew that. If she didn't, she would die. _They_ would get her. She forced her eyes open, only to watch the patches of visible sky above her grey and brighten several times before she could make herself move.  
  
Hissing at the stinging pain beneath her palms, she moved again, even more slowly this time. One hand, then the other; one leg, then the other, over and over again. Focusing on nothing more than that, she forced herself to continue.  
  
Her arms buckled again, sending her hard to the ground just as the daylight around her was beginning to fade, but even that last little bit of light was lost to her as her head hit the ground and blessed unawareness rushed over her.  
  
  
TBC  
Kiristeen  
Feedback, the food of the gods and muses alike. It's craved and treasured.  
Kiristeen@kiristeen.com  
  
  
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	2. Chapter One

**********  
Chapter One  
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Severus Snape's legs gave out beneath him and he sank unceremoniously to his knees. It was over. Voldemort was dead, his death-eaters -- the majority of them -- bound, their wands confiscated. A few, of course, were still on the loose. Either they hadn't been here, or had apparated to safety the moment the Order attacked. All that was left now, was the clean-up. _So many people dead,_ he thought numbly, his gaze scanning the battlefield without lighting on any one scene for more than a moment.  
  
A chuckle, crossed with a choked off sob, escaped him as he struggled back to his feet. He was still alive. He truly had never believed he'd live to see this day. Oh, he'd believed the day would come, Voldemort had been too obsessed to ultimately succeed; he'd just assumed he'd be dead before it happened . . . or as it happened. Mechanically, he began moving, his wand out as he scanned each body he passed for signs of life -- so far, none. Mentally, he filed away the names of the ones he knew by sight, too numb to feel anything but profound relief that it was over, finally over.  
  
The prophesy had been fulfilled; though, not in the way everyone had expected. Irony. Severus Snape loved irony. The prophesy, simply by existing is what had been Voldemort's downfall. If it hadn't existed, he would not have been distracted at the crucial moment. An hour into the battle, Voldemort had spotted Harry Potter and, predictably, had gone for him, duelling an unwinnable battle. Severus, having suddenly found himself presented with the Dark Lord's back, had lifted his wand and cast the killing curse. It was the ultimate example of a self-fulfilling prophesy. It didn't make it any less true, just made it. . . .  
  
"Ironic," Potter said softly, "isn't it?"  
  
Turning his head to stare at the greatest thorn in his side -- barring Voldemort himself -- Severus couldn't help but snort, a wry amusement twisting his lips up into a parody of a smile. "I believe so," he replied before he thought to stop himself, to tired to try all that hard, then continued, his voice retaking its normal disdainful tones. "What makes _you_ think it?"  
  
Harry shook his head, letting loose a snort of his own. "He was killed while fighting me . . . just like the prophesy hinted. The _irony_ is that if he had been watching his back, instead of trying to take me out, a half-grown kid who had little chance to actually kill him without an awful bloody lot of luck, he might not have died."  
  
For a moment, Severus was utterly stunned. Hearing his own thoughts virtually echoed by 'The Boy Who Lived' was unprecedented. It was, to say the least, disturbing, and he found himself agreeing before he could censor his words. "Exactly," he said. The bright smile he received in return was . . . surprising, untainted by malice or scorn as it was.  
  
"Bet that hurt to say," Potter quipped before turning away, his own wand mimicking the movements Severus had been making moments ago, his expression turning to sorrow.  
  
Shaking his head, and seriously wondering if the nine hells had _all_ frozen over, Severus returned to checking for life, not needing to wonder why Potter looked as he did. So many dead bodies. It was hard for _him_ to see. He could only imagine what it must be like for someone so young -- brat or not. At least none of the bodies he'd come across had been the boy's know-it-all friend, Miss Granger. That, Severus thought, would kill the boy. As long as no body was found, the boy had hope; he was certainly Gryffindor enough for that sentimental twaddle.  
  
Severus, himself, held out no hope for Miss Granger's survival. She, a 'mudblood', had been in death-eater hands for well over 24 hours; if she wasn't dead yet, she would be better off that way. He had to admit, however, that he was shocked that the Order's Headquarters had not been attacked. Miss Granger had known the address. Not to mention the fact that she _also_ knew of the entrance to Hogwarts grounds under the whomping willow. Both pieces of information would have been highly sought by Voldemort and his followers.  
  
As far as he could tell, one of two things had happened. Either Lucius was far more stupid than Severus had given the man credit for and _hadn't_ questioned her about it, despite the fact that he knew she'd been staying there, or, Severus Snape had _severely_ underestimated one Miss Hermione Granger. He snorted, even as he continued his search for living remnants of the battle. The likelihood of the second was so low, in his opinion, that he was left with the rather unsettling conclusion that twenty years ago, he'd put his faith and trust in an idiot. It did absolutely nothing for his current mood.  
  
"Harry!" George Weasley cried out, his horror-filled voice shooting out over the battlefield.  
  
Severus turned toward the two, a heaviness in his heart. She'd been found.  
  
"She's not here!"  
  
"What?" Potter exclaimed. "She has to be!" he exclaimed, suddenly spinning away from Weasley and renewing his search of the bodies. This time, Severus noticed a certain . . . urgency to his movements.  
  
Sighing, Severus turned his attention away from the young men. If Miss Granger was out here, among the bodies, she was, indeed, dead. But not even he had the insensitivity to point that out to them right now.  
  
**  
  
Eyes beyond dry, every muscle in his body aching from unaccustomed activity, Severus slumped into the nearest chair. Order headquarters, rapidly filling with every member who'd been on life search, should have been filled with jubilation and shouts of victory. It wasn't, however. If everyone felt the way he did, Severus could certainly understand why. Seven hours they'd all spent looking, hoping for survivors. So far the count was hideously uneven. 600 bodies -- dead from both sides -- had been recovered from the battlefield, and only 20 wounded, 9 of whom weren't expected to make it, not even with the best magical care available. Most of the people around him were beyond tears; though, he'd certainly seen enough of those shed today. Everyone was simply too tired to openly grieve the devastating losses.  
  
Of course, they hadn't yet begun raiding captured death-eater homes. Who knew what the total would rise to then. Without doubt, there would be suicides from both active death-eaters and from families of such. No one wanted Azkaban, and some would prefer even death to it. Severus wasn't too sure he didn't agree. His own short time there had left him with a respectable terror of the place.  
  
Someone had to get these people moving. Everyone, himself included, needed to sleep . . . needed time to regroup and move on. Before he could so much as twitch a muscle, however, the front door slammed open, sending everyone to their feet, wands out -- himself included.  
  
Glowering, Severus rolled his eyes. Albus was lucky he hadn't been hexed by any number of the forty-odd battle-weary people he'd just startled. It took several moments, during which he got his own heart-rate back under control, for him to notice something he'd never, _ever_ seen before. Albus Dumbledore was openly furious.  
  
"What is it?" Severus demanded, denying the terror that coursed through him seeing the most controlled man he'd ever known look so out of control. He couldn't think of a single thing bad enough to warrant Albus' fury . . . and that, in itself, was a very frightening thought.  
  
"Hogwarts was attacked."  
  
Loud gasps and not a few short, cut-off screams met his pronouncement. Severus paled, sinking back into his chair. "When?" he choked out.  
  
Albus' fury melted suddenly, his grief openly displayed as tears ran freely down his face. "Simultaneous to our attack on Voldemort," he replied brokenly, swaying.  
  
The implications immediately sinking in, Severus knew Albus would probably never recover from this completely. If they hadn't mounted the direct assault on Voldemort, simply because of one student's capture, they'd have been at Hogwarts to protect it . . . and the students. Severus wanted to rage and strike out. Unfortunately, he had no one to blame. Miss Granger had been snatched via Port Key from her very room, so, not even he could lay blame there. Obviously, someone from inside Hogwarts had done that piece of dirty work. He immediately thought of Malfoy, but had no proof. He didn't want to falsely accuse the young man and destroy any chance of him _not_ turning to the dark. He knew well what it was to be blamed simply because of who he was.  
  
No one could have known of the attack, save perhaps himself. Should that be who was blamed? Did he carry a measure of responsibility? He _was_ the spy inside Voldemort's inner circle. Why hadn't he known about it?  
  
"T-the ch-ch-ildren?" Molly Weasley stuttered, her hand hovering in horror over her mouth, tears, absent earlier, now filling her eyes.  
  
"Poppy and a team of emergency medi-witches from St. Mungos are caring for the survivors," Albus replied, his voice nothing more than a hoarse whisper.  
  
The word, 'survivors', echoed in hushed, horrified whispers throughout the room. Most of them had children who attended Hogwarts and now had the added fear of a hurt or dead child to hover over or grieve. Severus had never been so grateful to be childless. He took in the shocked blankness of expression around him, and did what no one else could . . . or dared.  
  
"How many?" he asked flatly.  
  
"Seventy eight students dead, a hundred twenty three wounded. I--" Albus voice cracked and he had to take a moment to clear his throat before he could continue. "I wasn't able to get specifics. Everyone was too busy caring . . . caring for the children."  
  
Thrusting his exhaustion aside, Severus rose. He knew no one was going to get any sleep until they knew for certain which parents still had their children. "I'll go brew some pepper-up potion," he said tonelessly. "Somehow, I think we're going to need it." Striding out of the room, he was glad to have something to do. Waiting had never been his strong suit, and having something useful to do would help keep his mind off . . . everything. He felt . . . selfish worrying about the future, his future, but he couldn't stop, not completely. What would he do now? Where would he go? Would he still teach at Hogwarts? He knew he wasn't the best suited to teaching, but he did actually enjoy it -- when he came across students who were actually semi-capable.  
  
His step faltered as he thought that. He'd had a few of those students over the years, students that had pushed his ability to push them to their limits. Hermione Granger had been one of those. As much as she had been an annoying, bossy, know-it-all, she had also been gifted with potions. He'd pushed her more than he'd pushed anyone except Potter, and she'd met each challenge. He swallowed convulsively. It would be . . . odd not having her in class sitting so proudly between Potter and Weasley, driving him to distraction by seeming to know the answers before he even bloody asked the questions.  
  
In some ways, it would be easier. Other students would now have to survive or fail on their own merits. In other ways, some small part him realized, he would sorely miss the challenge she represented to his teaching ability. He shook himself. No time for that kind of silly sentiment. He had a job to do.  
  
  
  
TBC  
Kiristeen  
Feedback, craved above all else. Kidding . . . sorta. : )~  
Kiristeen@kiristeen.com  
  
  
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	3. Chapter Two

Talio -- Thanks! Glad you're enjoying the story. : )  
Hunnysnowbunny -- Glad you like the story, thanks! : )  
Erisnymph -- Ever so much more to happen. I just hope you continue to enjoy the ride. : )  
  
  
  
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Chapter Two  
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"Mum! Mum! There's a naked girl outside!" Cecily Thomason ran full out toward the house. "Mum!!"  
  
"What is it, Cecily?"  
  
Cecily skid to a halt, the dust from the ground billowing up around her as her mum appeared in the doorway. She coughed, panting for breath as she repeated her news. "There's a naked girl at the edge of the woods!"  
  
Her mom's eyes widened and she hurried forward. "Show me."  
  
Nodding, Cecily took off again, urging her mother to hurry. "She's in a bad way, Mum."  
  
"Algar! Matthew!" Mrs. Thomason roared, not breaking stride, continuing as soon as Cecily's two brothers appeared. "Get my supplies. Quickly now!"  
  
The two ran off, the younger quickly falling behind. After that, Cecily returned her attention to where she was headed. The last thing the hurt girl needed was for her to fall over her own clumsy feet and not be able to guide help to her. Just this past year she'd grown a full 6 centimeters, and all of a sudden she was constantly breaking things and tripping over nothing. It was _embarrassing_!  
  
Almost to the edge of the woods, she pointed.  
  
"I see her," her mum replied, rushing ahead.  
  
"Good!" Cecily replied, dropping instantly to the ground. She didn't think she could run another step, the stitch in her side seemed to agree with her. Unfortunately, she'd have to.  
  
"Cecily Elizabeth Thomason, get off your bum and get over here!"  
  
Scrambling awkwardly to her feet, Cecily hurried to her mother's side. Looking down at the poor girl, Cecily really hoped her mother could help. It looked to her as if the girl had been put through a magic sieve . . . twice for good measure.  
  
"Here," her mother said suddenly, grabbing hold of her hand and placing it firmly on the girl's stomach, "keep the pressure on. It'll slow the bleeding until I can repair the damage."  
  
Cecily winced as her mother shouted for the boys, her voice filled with worry. She took a closer look as her mother removed her apron and spread it over the naked girl, no the woman, she wasn't as young as Cecily had originally thought. She was an adult, not a child like she'd thought. One by one she carefully catalogued the injuries she could identify, paying particular attention to everywhere she saw blood. She wanted to follow in her mother's footsteps and help heal people. She was pretty good at it, even if she _was_ only 10, and she was pretty sure the woman had gone through more than just getting herself beat up.  
  
"Mum?" she asked faintly as her mother shouted out the boys again, directing the two to their spot.  
  
"Yes, dear?" she asked absently, muttering words under her breath that Cecily couldn't quite make out.  
  
"Men did this, didn't they?" she asked.  
  
Looking at her sharply, her mother nodded once. "Yes, though, that doesn't mean that women didn't have a hand in it as well."  
  
Gathering her courage, Cecily forged on, "they forced her, like the forest animals do, didn't they?"  
  
Her mother frowned at her, glancing at the swiftly approaching boys, before replying. "Yes, and no."  
  
"That didn't make any sense, Mum!" Cecily protested.  
  
"The animals of the forest don't force their mates," her mother said quietly, most of her attention on the woman she was working to save. "Some have to work at dominating, to prove they're the best for the job . . . so to speak, but it's only humans that rape, child."  
  
"Oh."  
  
The boys, winded, skid to a halt and dropped next to the three of them. Her mom set to work immediately, confidently applying poltices and external potions to aid the young woman in healing.  
  
"What was that spell you murmured earlier? What does it do?" Cecily asked quietly, hoping she wasn't distracting her mother too much.  
  
"It'll protect her, child, for a little while."  
  
"How," Algar asked instantly. He'd been happily learning spells from his mother for years now, and wanted to hear it all.  
  
Cecily knew her brother was already more powerful the her mum. Her mum knew hundreds maybe even _thousands_ of spells, but didn't have the power to cast most of them. She did have the knowledge to teach him, though, and he soaked up every scrap she gave him.  
  
"It will hide her from anyone searching for her -- for a short while. It isn't very powerful, but it will, at least, give her time to heal and decide what she wants to do before she can be found. Of course, if someone really powerful wants her bad enough, they'll break through it easily enough."  
  
"Why not just take her into town?" Cecily asked, worried that something might happen to them for protecting her. Her mum's words about someone wanting to find her, scared Cecily. It made her imagination run wild, and she didn't like the things she was thinking.  
  
It was Algar who answered her. "Because we don't know who did this. We can assume," he said, sounding like he was pretty bloody sure who it had been, "but we don't know. No matter where we take her, we could be making the wrong choice." As he finished speaking, he looked suddenly hesitant, glancing to their mum. "Right?"  
  
Their mother merely nodded, most of her attention still on the young woman.  
  
Cecily, shuddered, Algar's reminder of the evil in their world entirely unwelcome on top of everything else. She was young, but she knew why they lived in a cottage in the middle of nowhere. She knew why her oldest brother, who desperately wanted to go to Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, was home schooled. It was because, after their father had died, their mother had ended up married to a muggle. Her little brother was a half-blood. She didn't see why it was such a big deal, but evidently this He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, really hated muggles, and everything associated with them. That put them in danger.  
  
She sighed. It really wasn't fair. Algar wanted to go. She knew that when her time came -- assuming she had the gift -- she wanted to go. Her mother was brilliant, but it wouldn't be the same as learning with all the other kids. It just wouldn't. She sighed again. Looking back down, she wondered if their patient was a witch, and if so, had _she_ been allowed to go to Hogwarts or had she learned somewhere else?  
  
"Well, I've done what I can," her mother said suddenly, rising slowly to her feet. "Algar, help me get her back to the cottage."  
  
Cecily watched uneasily as her mother and brother carefully lifted the woman and began the slow, long walk back to the cottage. She lifted her mother's basket, lost in thought. She wasn't entirely certain this was a good idea. What if the bad man came looking for her and found her here with them? He already wouldn't like their family. If he came, and found out they'd helped someone he'd hurt, wouldn't that put them in more danger? She spent the remainder of the trip pulled between worrying about what she'd have done if it had all been up to her, and with making sure her little brother was keeping up. He was only five and forever running off when he shouldn't.  
  
It was getting dark, and the dark was no place for a little boy. She shuddered as the sun set, the shadows deepening quickly. She wasn't exactly fond of it herself. She wished Algar and her mother could hurry, just a little, the growing darkness feeling suddenly like it was hiding all sorts of monsters, some that wore the shape of men.  
  
By the time they got home, however, she'd decided that yes, she would have still helped. She would, if it were up to her, limit the length of time to woman stayed, though. She would let her stay just long enough for her to take herself off. The best of both worlds, Cecily decided. She just hoped her mother saw it that way, too.  
  
Quickly setting the basket back in its proper place, Cecily followed her family. "Is she going to make it?" she asked, worried.  
  
"Yes," her mother replied almost immediately, her and Algar carefully laying the girl on Cecily's bed.  
  
_Why mine?_  
  
She frowned at that thought, only half listening as her mother continued. "She'll need a lot of help, but she should be all right."  
  
_Why did I think that?_ she wondered. _Am I that selfish_? Swallowing guiltily, she hurried out of the room. "I'll start getting dinner for you, Mum," she offered. She wasn't usually that keen on helping with the food, but right now she needed to so something to wash away the sick feeling inside.   
  
The rest of the evening flew by far more quickly than Cecily had figured it would. They'd all taken turns sitting with the woman, alternately sponging her face, and holding her down when in her delirium she thrashed about. They also dodged items suddenly flying across the room, as the feverish woman's magic lashed out in response to the images she saw in her nightmares.  
  
"No more!" she cried out, and Cecily jumped. It was her turn to sit and watch, and this was the first time the woman had spoken.  
  
"It's okay," she whispered, trying to be reassuring. "You're safe now."  
  
"Safe, no. I let them-- I didn't tell-- Dirty now-- Didn't tell."  
  
Cecily frowned. That hadn't made any sense. She wished she knew what the woman was talking about. "Yes, you're safe. And you're not dirty," she added, wondering why that mattered at all. "We cleaned you up good and proper."  
  
"Didn't tell," the woman murmured again, this time sounding far more frantic. "I swear."  
  
Cecily worried that she was going to start one of her fits again, and hurriedly leaned forward and gently petted her hair. Hoping it would help, she tried to reassure her the only way she could. She said she believed her. "It's alright. We know you didn't tell. You did good. You didn't tell." To her complete relief -- not to mention surprise -- it seemed to help; the woman subsided back into a less restless sleep.  
  
She stayed with the woman until her mother came to relieve her, not once having to do anything more than wipe the fever sweat from her face.  
  
  
TBC  
Kiristeen  
Feedback -- Love it, Crave it! : ) Can I have it? LOL  
Kiristeen@kiristeen.com  
  
  
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	4. Chapter Three

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Chapter Three  
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Severus sighed, scowling out over the remaining Hogwarts students as they gathered for the morning meal. His own breakfast lay largely untouched in front of him. Three weeks it had been since the final conflict with Voldemort . . . and the attack on Hogwarts. A pall still lay over the faculty and student body alike, the only exception being the morbidly excited whispers as eyewitnesses told and retold of what happened that fateful night.   
  
Their losses had been devastating, which he realized was a bloody obvious thing to consider. It had been especially hard on his own house, with Gryffindor coming in second in the death totals. The first and second years had remained virtually untouched -- as far as depleting their numbers was concerned. Protected both by the staff that had remained behind and by the older students, they'd managed what none of the other years had, to emerge from the battle virtually unscathed . . . physically.  
  
Forcibly shutting away the glaring reminders of lost lives, vividly portrayed by the emptiness of the great hall, Severus turned his attention to his own students. Some of the upper years that remained were a surprise, a welcome surprise. Severus'd had few enough of that kind of surprise over the years to fully appreciate this one.  
  
Through the last 6 1/2 years he had worked subtly to wean Draco away from his father and the possibility of his becoming a death-eater. He'd thought he'd failed in that. He'd been wrong. From the tales told of the battle he'd missed, Draco had stood side by side with the likes of Finnegan, and Weasley, to hold off the invaders, to keep them away from the students who couldn't protect themselves.  
  
The second years virtually glowed as they retold the tale of how the three boys had stood shoulder to shoulder, physically and magically barricading the entrance to where the young children were hidden. Horror, tinted with tentative pride and overflowing with awe colored their young excited voices as they recounted the tale of how their personal heroes had saved their lives. Young Draco Malfoy now found himself in a position rather new to him. He had awestruck _Gryffindors_ that idolized him.  
  
It boggled the mind, really, and he couldn't help but wonder whether anything he'd done had helped the boy make his decision. Part of him hoped so, but another, larger part hoped not. Draco Malfoy's decision had carried a hefty price tag for the young man -- which led to Severus' biggest shock of all.  
  
Of the 7th years, Blaise Zabini, he'd expected to remain. Parkinson and Bulstrode, he hadn't been sure about, but hadn't been surprised when the former had left and the latter remained. Both were dead, so it was a moot point anyhow. Zabini's only remaining parent was the muggle. Parkinson's father was dead, as were both Bulstrode's parents. No, it wasn't them that shocked him to his core, them nor their families, nor the dozens of others who'd chosen one side other.   
  
It was the young Crabbe and Goyle that had completely defied his logic. They'd _stayed_. Apparently, their loyalty was to one Draco Malfoy, not the invisible -- to them -- Lord Voldemort, not some ideal that the delusional half-blood had purported. Draco Malfoy. When he had stayed; they had stayed. Shocking.  
  
Unfortunately for Draco Malfoy, both had died as a result. That was something no one could help the young Malfoy heir with. He would have to come to terms with that himself, in the privacy of his own mind. The fact that his two ever-present cronies had been willing to die for him had rocked Draco Malfoy's world and ripped the ground from underneath him. The whispers said that Avada had been accurately aimed at Malfoy, a tale confirmed with quiet respect by none other the Ronald Weasley. Crabbe had dived directly into the path of the deadliest of curses, protecting Malfoy's body with his own, and in the finest tradition of true bodyguards everywhere, taken the hit himself. Those who told the tale, trembled as they spoke, each wondering if they would _ever_ be called on to be so sacrificing.  
  
Goyle, in contrast, had launched himself at the curse thrower, tumbling the death-eater to the ground. He'd received a dagger to the gut for his troubles. No one had expected anything like it. No one thought that in the middle of the biggest magical battle this century, perhaps ever, that one of their number would die by such mundane means. In the debriefing that followed, Draco had been unable to testify coherently, and had agreed to a pensieve being made. Severus had been one of those who'd seen it, felt it.  
  
In the privacy of his own mind, Severus would be forever grateful that Lucius Malfoy had been at Voldemort's side during the double battle. To have father and son pitted directly against one another had happened too often that night and he was glad that Draco Malfoy, at least, had been spared that. Considering how things had turned out, he was just as glad that Crabbe had not lived long enough to realize that it had been his very own father who had thrown that fatal curse. Draco knew, however, and it was simply one more burden for the young man to bear.  
  
Malfoy was not, of course, the only student haunted by the events of three weeks past. Quite without his approval, Severus' gaze drifted to the Gryffindor table. 'The Golden Trio' was a trio no more. The Granger girl had been the first to be lost, a bossy know-it-all that had not had the chance to grow up and be anything more. The two left behind seemed . . . diminished somehow, like they weren't quite whole. He didn't know why he thought that specifically, because Circe only knew, the duo had as much else weighing them down as everyone present.   
  
His eyes moved to the open space just a few feet down from Ronald Weasley. Ginny Weasley, gone. No one knew how she'd died, her death unseen by any of the survivors. She had died alone, and probably terrified out of her mind. That alone was enough to weigh down the two Gryffindors . . . if not all of them.   
  
Space after empty space was found by Severus' keen gaze as he continued scanning the table of each house in turn. He could have told, had he been willing and had anyone asked, full essays on the person who's name leapt to mind for each space. He could tell what they had tended to prefer at meals, what aptitude, if any, they had for potions, what friends they kept as well as many of the ones they'd forsaken over the years they had attended Hogwarts. He could, in fact, probably make fairly accurate estimates on which of the fallen had managed to lose the yoke of virginity. Yes, Severus Snape, the most feared Professor at Hogwarts made it a point to know his students. It was the best kept secret at Hogwarts, simply because he had revealed that fact to absolutely no one. He was Slytherin to the core and held his secrets close to his chest.  
  
One by one, the students trickled out of the Great Hall, and like him, most of them left with easily half the food remaining on their plates. Severus watched as Draco Malfoy rose slowly, the once proud and arrogant boy a shadow of his former self, seemingly lost and alone. For the very first time since beginning his teaching career, he truly wished he was the type of man who could reach out to others, who could grab hold and give comfort where it was both needed and due.  
  
He snorted in disgust at the increasingly sentimental nature of his thoughts and let his fork drop to his plate, giving up on actually eating anything more. Silently striding out of the Great Hall, Severus headed straight for the dungeons. Today, a Saturday, he had the luxury of returning to his chambers and to the privacy the represented. Today had been planned months ago to be a Hogsmeade weekend, which would ordinarily have meant he could have wandered the castle and still been reasonably assured of being left alone. He seriously doubted, however, given past events, that many, if any, of the students would actually go.  
  
He was already in the dungeon, a mere 20 meters from his treasured privacy when a voice stopped him. Draco Malfoy, only the voice wasn't directed at him. The blond young man didn't even realize he was there.  
  
"Why?" he asked.  
  
"Draco," came the reply, which Severus was surprised to realized was Weasley, "it's not your fault. They made their own choices. It wasn't like you ordered them to do it."  
  
"I may as well have," Draco retorted angrily, "the result would have been the same."  
  
"No," Weasley calmly denied instantly, "it wouldn't have."  
  
"How so?" Draco demanded. "They'd still be dead."  
  
"Maybe so," Weasley admitted, "but in that case, you really _would_ be responsible for their deaths." There was a short silence, during which Severus eased forward until, still hidden by the shadows, he could see the two speakers. "Just like any good battle commander."  
  
Draco snorted.  
  
"Or," Weasley added, obviously changing tactics, "any good liege lord."  
  
Severus was impressed, despite himself. He hadn't thought the youngest surviving Weasley had enough wisdom to make that intuitive jump.  
  
Draco let out a soft, short whimper that had Severus aching to simply wrap the boy in comfort. The concept of liege lords was something that, as an aristocratic pureblood of an ancient line, Draco could not only understand, but embrace.  
  
"Why did they _do_ that?" Draco asked plaintively.  
  
"Loyalty," Weasley answered simply, firmly; though, his confusion was clear when he continued. "Do you truly not understand that?"  
  
Draco shook his head. "No, I truly do not." Draco suddenly sat up straighter, turning to look Weasley directly in the eye. "What drives people to _that_ length, to that kind of self-sacrificing loyalty?"  
  
Taking a deep breath, Weasley opened his mouth several times before any kind of response emerged. "I can't tell you that, Draco. It's not something that can be explained, really, it just . . . is."  
  
"I didn't want this," Draco admitted suddenly, "any of it. I just wanted the _choice_ to live the way _I_ wanted -- that's all." A resounding silence followed that admission and Severus almost stepped forward. He was stopped short by Draco's next quiet, sorrowful words. Though, he couldn't see them, Severus could hear the tears in the blond's voice. "I didn't ask to be responsible."  
  
"Most people don't," Ron said, equally quiet. "Most people get responsibility whether they want it or not, whether they can handle it or not, even."  
  
  
_So_, Severus thought to himself, _it's my day for shocking discoveries_. Apparently, he had _severely_ underestimated Ronald Weasley.  
  
Violently wiping the unseen tears from his eyes, Draco's convulsive swallow was quite audible. "You're talking about Potter, aren't you?"  
  
"No," Ron denied. "Well, not entirely, anyway, but he is a prime example."  
  
Drawing his knees to his chest, Draco locked his arms around his legs before he spoke again. "I never really thought about it that way. I only ever saw the fame."  
  
Weasley shrugged. "You'd never walked the proverbial mile in his shoes before. Why would you think of it that way?"  
  
"So, if not Potter, or not _primarily_ Potter, who _did_ you have in mind when you said that?"  
  
"Who said I had anyone in mind?" Weasley shot back defensively.  
  
Draco tilted his head thoughtfully a moment. "No one," he admitted, "it just really seemed like it to me."  
  
Weasley didn't answer right away, and when he finally did, Severus had to strain to hear the words. "Did you know that my parents blame me for Ginny's death?"  
  
Draco's appalled, "What?!" echoed the one reverberating silently through Severus' mind. How could they, he wondered incredulously. The boy was instrumental in saving the lives of more than forty children. _What was he supposed to do_, he silently spat, _leave them all and go chasing after one girl he didn't even know the whereabouts of_?   
  
The boy had to be mistaken was the only answer Severus could realistically come up with. While he did not know Arthur Weasley very well, what he knew of Molly told him it was not possible for her to blame her son in this situation. It simply didn't fit. Obviously, the boy held himself responsible, and in his grief, projected that onto his equally grieving parents. That would have to be dealt with, he decided firmly, glad, at last, to have _something_ he could do to help. Lost to his own shock, he missed part of the conversation, and was surprised to hear the sounds of crying, from _both_ boys.  
  
Backing up slowly, he used all his abilities at stealth to move away undetected. To intrude now would be unconscionable.  
  
  
  
TBC  
Kiristeen  
Feedback; craved like air to breathe. : )  
Kiristeen@kiristeen.com  
  
  
  



	5. Chapter Four

AN: Thank you, everyone who took the time to review! Everytime a review notice popped up in my mailbox, in grinned like a loon and immediately checked it out. : ) **********  
Chapter Four  
**********  
  
Draco pulled back suddenly, rising to his feet awkwardly, suddenly all too aware of the very _public_ hallway they were in. "I can't believe we both blubbered like babies!" he muttered, uncomfortably aware of the blush color his face.  
  
Ron chuckled uneasily, lowering his glance to the floor after a quick glance behind him. "Yeah, me neither."  
  
Frowning, Draco too, glanced away from Ron then back again. "No one hears about this, right?" He needed to make sure. He still wasn't completely comfortable with the red-headed Gryffindor, but adversity and bedfellows and all that. _Not_ that, that could be taken literally, he quickly amended silently, just metaphorically. He almost rolled his eyes as his thoughts started getting a touch ridiculous.  
  
Ron nodded enthusiastically. "Agreed. No one."  
  
Draco sighed in relief his expression relaxing for one brief moment before it hardened suddenly. "This doesn't mean I like you, you know, because I don't."  
  
"Course not," Ron replied easily, a crooked grin growing. "Doesn't mean I like you either, 'cuz I don't."  
  
"Good," Draco replied, suddenly back to feeling relieved, "glad that's settled." He had to get out of here. He needed to go back to his room and just . . . _be_. He needed time to figure it all out, to sort through the whiplash of emotional highs and lows he'd been seesawing between lately.  
  
"Truce, then?" Ron asked hesitantly, "Of a sort."  
  
Draco hesitated briefly, then nodded once. "Truce."  
  
Ron stuck out his hand, and despite the fact that this was _Weasley_, Draco was irresistibly reminded of the day he had offered his own hand to Harry Potter. This time, however, the offer on the table was slightly different, and Draco had no intention of refusing it; though, he was fairly certain it was going to be rather large adjustment -- one he wasn't altogether certain he could make. He tilted his head thoughtfully for a moment. "You know, I don't think I can go cold turkey on the insults -- not right away anyhow."  
  
Ron laughed genuinely then. "Of course not, 'sides, I think the two of us getting along too well would give the lot of them heart attacks."  
  
It was Draco's turn to chuckle, but that quickly turned into something approaching his usual smirk as he pictured everyone trying to figure out what, exactly, was going on. "Might be worth it at that, just to watch 'em squirm."  
  
Ron's eyes widened. "Okay, now you're scaring me."  
  
Draco blinked. "How?"  
  
"You sounded just like Fred and George there, just before they try out a new gag."  
  
Draco's jaw dropped incredulously. "Did you just compare me to your brothers?" he asked when he could speak. He could not believe Ron Weasley had just compared him to those two. . . . He couldn't think up an appropriate name at the moment. He would try later.  
  
A slight squeak escaping, Ron nodded once. "I think I did."  
  
"Okay," Draco said after a long moment of silence, "this is getting too weird. I'm not pissed at you for that."  
  
Ron's eyes widened. "You're right, that is weird."  
  
Voices echoing down the hallway startled both of them, and without further words, they both strode different directions -- Draco deeper into the dungeons, and Ron back toward the first floor.  
  
Draco shook his head trying to clear his thoughts. It didn't work very well, unfortunately. He was still thinking about the strange encounter with the Weasel. The strangest part out of all the weirdness that was _that_ conversation, was the fact that _he_ had started it. Out of all the people he could have gone to--  
  
//Right! Like who?//  
  
--he'd asked _Weasley_ why.  
  
Then, he was angry, as suddenly as that. He gasped as the rage flowed through him so unexpectedly. "Why did you guys have to go and do it for?!" he shouted, listening to his voice echo along the stone hallway. He wanted to lash out, to rage, to do _anything_ but feel so damn confused and alone. He wanted answers, desperately; though, he didn't really expect to get them. It was too much to hope that those idiot goons of his would end up as ghosts just so he, Draco Malfoy, could get answers to questions he never thought he'd ask.  
  
He'd been born to lead, raised to it. He'd had it drilled into him with his mother's milk that he was better than most everyone else. He'd believed in it all, utterly, for so long, and had acted on it, treating the people around him as servants or annoyances for the most part. Only a few had moved past that into the sphere of near equals. So, why didn't it feel right that people had died to protect him?  
  
He didn't want to admit it, but the suspicions growing slowly louder in the back of his mind were getting harder and harder to ignore, to deny. He felt guilty. He didn't want to, but he did. Draco was beginning to suspect that, as with Potter and his fame, he hadn't done one damn thing to earn the loyalty Crabbe and Goyle had given him. That really did not sit well. It made what they'd done even more confusing . . . and, truth be told, terrifying.  
  
If _they_ could feel that way, be ready to die for someone else, would _he_ come to feel that way about someone? He gulped, not liking that thought at all. He wasn't some brave, stupid Gryffindor to feel things like that.  
  
//Neither were Crabbe and Goyle, and look what they did.//  
  
He shook his head, chasing out that unwanted thought. He didn't want to die. He wasn't ready for that. He should be grateful they'd done it. So, he didn't understand it. So what? Did it really matter in the end? They were dead and he was alive.  
  
"Fuck yes, it matters!" Draco shouted.  
  
"And just what, pray tell, matters," Professor Snape said from behind him, the quiet words sending Draco's heart into his throat, beating wildly.  
  
Draco whirled around. "Is there anyone you'd die to save?" he spat out, speaking, for one of the few times in his life, without thinking about it at all. When the professor's eyes widened briefly before his expression settled back into one far more familiar, Draco did wonder if he shouldn't have thought before asking after all.  
  
After several long moments, where Draco seriously considered running off before the touchy professor could flay him verbally, the man nodded slowly, once.  
  
Draco's eyes widened. _Even Professor Snape_!? "I don't understand that," he whispered, shaking his head again. "I thought all that self-sacrificing heroism was a _Gryffindor_ trait."  
  
An amused, condescending -- in Draco's opinion -- smirk flitted across the professor's mouth. "Anyone can be brave, Mr. Malfoy . . . given the right set of circumstances. Rarely is the world as black and white as you children see it. It is filled with shades of grey, filled with choices that are very, very rarely entirely right or entirely wrong. In fact, most of the decisions adults come to in this world are what they consider 'the lesser of two evils' -- to borrow an oft used cliche."  
  
Draco stiffened at the sneering of the word children. He wasn't a child anymore. That had been lost to him three weeks ago. It had been lost to them all.  
  
"Now that we have _that_ little childish illusion cleared up, perhaps you'd care to share what 'matters' so much that you've resorted to shouting vulgar profanity in the hallways of this school?"  
  
Draco winced. One day over three weeks ago, his use of that 'vulgar profanity' would have lost him house points, and earned him detention . . . _even_ from Professor Snape. It was a measure of just how much had changed, how much _everyone_ was still reeling that all he received was the censure of disdain.  
  
Glancing down at his feet, unwilling to meet Professor Snape's unrelenting gaze, Draco shuffled a bit before responding, lifting his head enough to stare over the professor's shoulder. "I'd been trying to tell myself it didn't matter that I didn't understand. They're dead. I'm alive. The _why_ didn't matter."  
  
"It doesn't."  
  
Draco's eyes shot to Professor Snape's, even as they widened in outright shock.  
  
" 'In the end', Mr. Malfoy, the _why_ doesn't matter at all. As you said, they are dead and you are alive. The only reason the why matters now . . . is because you want it to."  
  
Hearing his thoughts echoed back at him, thoughts he'd already rejected, angered and shocked Draco. "How can you say that?" he hissed. "They purposely gave their lives for me. I'd say it matters one hell of a lot!"  
  
"I can say that, Mr. Malfoy, because it's true. We can speculate until we are as old and grey as the headmaster, but we will _never_ know for sure why they did it. Perhaps they simply believed that you needed to live more than they did. Perhaps they truly _cared_. Perhaps they believed it was their _duty_ to protect you . . . at all costs." Professor Snape sighed and shook his head before continuing. "The point is, that we will never know, no matter how much we guess at the reasons, and unless they come back as ghosts -- Merlin forbid -- we can not ask. You should take the gift they've given you and use it. Don't take for granted what they died to grant you."  
  
Swallowing, Draco nodded hesitantly.  
  
"The only thing I can reasonably tell you about Misters Crabbe and Goyle was that they _obviously_ believed that you knew what you were doing. It was to you they gave their loyalty, over and above that of myself, Dumbledore, and _even_ Voldemort. They believed you were worth it. Don't prove them wrong. Prove them right, Mr. Malfoy."  
  
On the heels of that, and Draco's startled gasp, Professor Snape strode off, leaving Draco reeling. While that wasn't exactly a new sensation lately, this time it had a different feel to it. He spun suddenly, calling out.  
  
"You never said who, Professor!"  
  
Professor Snape stopped, twisting only his upper body around to stare at Draco. He looked long and hard before replying. "When you can come to me and tell me there is someone you would die to protect -- and _mean_ it -- I will tell you who it is for me," he said, almost too softly to hear. Then without further word or hesitation disappeared around the corner.  
  
Bemused, but strangely, no longer feeling so near the edge, Draco turned and headed to toward the Slytherin dormitory. Professor Snape was right. He needed to reclaim his life. He sighed and wished it was as simple as that. So much had changed, nothing seemed to be the same. His father was dead -- that had been confirmed that night. And despite his world having been wrenched out from under him, Draco had felt an everlasting gratitude that his father had not been part of the attack on Hogwarts, still felt it.  
  
He wanted to believe his father hadn't known about the attack. He wanted to believe his father wouldn't have approved something that would have so risked his only son's life. He ruthlessly crushed the sneaking suspicion that it was a fruitless wish. He'd learned details the last three weeks that made his stomach churn and bile rise in his throat, things that he _had_ to believe his father was incapable of being part of.  
  
His mother, on the other hand, had completely disappeared.  
  
"Sensortia," Draco muttered, the Slytherin password coming to his tongue automatically. He stepped through the portrait hole and headed directly to his own room. His thought about mothers had reminded him, he had a task to perform, a note to write. Weasley had tried to help him, now it was his turn to return the favor. Quid pro quo. He was used to that. That was something he understood, and he, in no way, wished to be indebted to anyone else. His unrepayable debt to the two who had shadowed almost his entire school career was debt enough in his opinion.  
  
He sat, pulling out quill, ink, and parchment, and before long he was busy writing.  
  
  
Greetings Mrs. Weasley,  
  
I'm fully aware that I am one of the last people you ever expected to hear from; however, I felt it was my duty to write to inform you of a matter that needs your immediate attention.  
  
Your son, Ronald Weasley, stood beside me protecting a room of first and second year students, children unable to protect themselves. Of course, I'm certain you are already aware of this as it is pretty much common knowledge. What you may not be aware of, is the fact that, despite all this, he feels guilty that he was unable to save his sister.  
  
Despite the fact that he had no idea where she was, despite the fact that he would have had to abandon the children to go find her, he believes he should have been able to protect her. He also believes, and I sincerely hope he is wrong, that you and your husband also blame him for Virginia's death. It is tearing him apart, and it is my belief that, eventually, it will destroy him.  
  
  
Draco hesitated before continuing, then sighed carefully wording his next request.  
  
  
I would also appreciate your discretion in this matter as I'm not sure he would appreciate my bringing this to your attention. I have done so, because I believe it necessary, and would hate to think this course of action would hinder the very tentative truce we have established.  
  
  
Sincerely yours,  
Draco Octavian Malfoy  
  
  
Draco quickly scanned the short note he'd written, scowling as he reached his signature. He _really_ hated his middle name. Nothing for it, however, proper protocol was also ingrained in him as deeply as the need to breathe. Satisfied with everything else, he quickly rolled the scroll and headed toward the owlery. This one last thing completed, he could sleep, and hope that maybe, just maybe, tomorrow might be a that much easier.  
  
It was odd, really, that he was willingly writing to a member of the Weasley family, and he was not sure what kind of precedent he was setting by doing so. It was simply the only thing he could think of to repay the debt owed.  
  
  
  
TBC  
Kiristeen  
Feedback craved like a chocoholic craves chocolate after a weekend at a health spa. : )~  
Kiristeen@kiristeen.com  
  
  
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	6. Chapter Five

Kdarkmaiden -- We'll get to find out about Hermione soon, not this chapter, but soon. : ) And Snape's little secret will remain so for awhile. sry. But hope you like this chapter anyway.  
Cephyse -- Thanks! Here's more.  
Samantha -- News about Hermione soon, I promise. : )  
Stargurl -- LOL, I do not believe so. Until your review I thought I'd made the name Algar up from scratch. It's entirely possible I saw the movie ages ago -- if it's old enough -- and have simply forgotten it, however. I don't remember it consciously though.  
Tiffie -- Thanks! : )  
Pantherocker -- Thank you! : ) I hope this chapter meets your expectations.  
Magicrules -- (Like the screenname : ) ) Hermione info soon.   
  
  
  
  
**********  
Chapter Five  
**********  
  
  
Professor Snape strode through the castle hallways, for the most part ignoring the chatter going on around him -- their plans for the upcoming winter break interested him not at all. Unfortunately, it was well after dinner and not yet curfew, and the children could not be berated for conversing -- of course, that wouldn't have stopped him if he'd managed to find any of them hiding in the shadows pretending they couldn't be seen. Frankly, it surprised him that he hadn't caught more students letting go of their rampant hormones in the last few weeks.  
  
Striding into the library, he made his way immediately toward the restricted section with merely a quick nod to Madam Pince. It didn't take him long to find the book he needed, nor was it difficult, certainly not enough so to interfere with his rather circular thoughts.  
  
The numbness had pretty much worn off, and everyone, one by one, was beginning to revive. Anyone who'd been through it before knew that surviving the atrocities they all had, led to reaffirming life in that most basic of ways. Teenagers, always far more susceptible to their hormones, were no exception to that fact of life. He frowned. Either he was losing his touch, they were getting better at hiding, or something else was seriously wrong.  
  
Since he highly doubted he was losing his touch, and lust-blinded teenagers had the sense of moths when confronted with flames, he worried and began taking a closer, far more considering look around himself. It took him a week and an overheard conversation to figure out what was glaringly wrong -- and he lambasted himself for not seeing it sooner.  
  
Book found, ready to step back into the library proper, he stopped. He watched, hidden within the stacks of the restricted section as Ronald Weasley entered the library, heading straight toward Draco Malfoy. That friendship, out of all the unexpected ones that had sprung up out of adversity, surprised him the most. Even Potter, though clearly not as accepting as Weasley -- a sentiment quite obviously shared equally by Malfoy -- had all but dropped the outright hostilities.  
  
"Hey, Draco, you decided who you're going to the Yule ball with?" he asked, dropping artlessly into a chair next to Malfoy.  
  
Malfoy shook his head, not bothering to look up from the book he was supposedly reading. "I'll probably just show up alone, leave early."  
  
"Why?" Weasley asked, incredulous. "You could have your pick and you know it."  
  
Sighing, Malfoy finally looked up from his book. "Have you *really* taken a look around you as to what there is *to* pick from?"  
  
Weasley sent him a funny look and shrugged. "There's plenty of girls around. What about Blaise?"  
  
Malfoy rolled his eyes. "She's been hooked up since the end of 5th year with a guy from Durmstrang."  
  
"Oh, I didn't know that."  
  
"And before you ask, most of the 6th and 7th year Slytherins ended up leaving, in case you've forgotten. The few that remained, well, of them all, Blaise is the only girl to survive. And I'm sure as hell not taking a 5th year!"  
  
"Errrg, no, I'd guess not. Well, why does your date have to be Slytherin? I realize," Weasley continued, a crooked grin accentuating his point, "you'd probably rather become a recluse than go with a Gryffindor or a Hufflepuff, but what about a Ravenclaw girl?"  
  
Malfoy laughed humorlessly. "You *really* haven't taken a good look around have you?" he asked, then shook his head. "No, don't answer that. Of the Ravenclaw 6th and 7th years, the only four I'd want to be seen anywhere with are all involved in long term relationships. Ravenclaw, as a house, made it out better than either yours or mine, but they lost a lot of people too."  
  
Weasley began to look pensive. "You're right Draco, I hadn't been looking. Gods, I'm beginning to think this war may have destroyed the wizarding world. We're just the walking dead, ya know?"  
  
Malfoy nodded. "Yes, I do. Unlike you, I started checking things out about a week ago. When it dawned on me how bad things were here, I started looking at the other schools. I know lineage and such don't really mean a lot to you, but they still do to me. I'm the last living Malfoy, which means it's my responsibility to carry on the name."  
  
"Never thought of it that way," Weasley admitted.  
  
"Of course not. You Weasleys are something of an oddity--"  
  
Weasley automatically started to bristle.  
  
"Oh, calm down. I wasn't trying to be insulting. I have much better material if that's what I wanted to do. What I *meant* was, pureblood families tend to have only one or two children. In fact, most only end up having one for one reason or another. I know my folks lost one before me, and two after."  
  
"Ouch!"  
  
Malfoy nodded slowly. "Yeah, my mom was a mess for the last one. Medi-witch told her she probably wouldn't survive if she tried again, so they stopped trying. The Parkinsons had two kids, but Pansy was the only one to make it to school age. Her brother died when he was two, some kind of congenital defect or something. I never got the full story. There are stories like that from all the families."  
  
Severus retreated further into the stacks to think. What Malfoy had said was rather alarming. He had never really given it much thought. Once he'd grown accustomed to the idea that most people did not find him physically attractive, he'd given up on ever finding a wife. He, after all, had a brother, an older brother in fact, that could ably carry on the family name. That released him -- Thank Circe! -- from the obligation Malfoy was under.  
  
He did wonder whether the boy had found anyone he considered 'suitable'. Frowning, he decided to do some research of his own. He hoped that Malfoy was simply bemoaning the immediate lack of someone in his precise age range. A couple years down the line, those 5th years he was shunning would no longer look so young to him. Severus well knew from experience that give it time, say 6 to 7 years, and anyone already in school now would stop seeming 'too young'.  
  
His course determined, Severus stepped forward, intent on slipping out of the library unnoticed. Malfoy's next words stopped him cold.  
  
"It's worse than that, Ron. So many of the pureblood lines were either wiped out completely in this, or nearly so. I've heard all the jokes about in-breeding among purebloods, and to a certain extent it's true. Unfortunately, now it's going to be worse than ever. The Parkinson line is completely gone, as is the Black line, the Mallin line, and the Arbani line. I don't know about the Bulstrodes, but sorry, I pity the poor guy that ends up marrying Millicent. Thankfully, I don't have to even consider her. The Bulstrodes are too closely related to the Malfoys."  
  
"Can't say I disagree with you there, Draco," Weasley replied with a shudder.  
  
Severus, himself, couldn't disagree either, that girl would have been better off if she'd been a boy.  
  
"I'm the only Malfoy left. Professor Snape is also the last of his line."   
  
Severus' heart clenched. He hadn't known that. He'd thought his brother had stayed out of the conflict, preferring to take a wait and see approach.  
  
"The Crabbes and Goyles -- well, I think there's technically one of each of those still around, but they're both in Azkaban for life -- and only one of them is female. She's like almost 90, I think."  
  
"I could list off several other families like that with only one or two living members left. Only a handful of families, the Weasleys included, have more than that. Unfortunately, the current batch is all male.  
  
As Weasley winced, Malfoy mimicked the movement. "Sorry," he said, actually sounding like he meant it.  
  
Weasley nodded, the managed a half grin. "Unfortunately?"  
  
Malfoy laughed then. "I'm not going to live that down, am I?"  
  
Weasley shook his head vigorously. "Huh uh! Not a bloody chance."  
  
  
Severus almost laughed. The Malfoy family's longstanding derision of the Weasley clan was a cornerstone of wizarding culture. The only thing that stopped him was the fact that if Malfoy had been serious in his comment about the lack of female Weasleys in the current generation, then the boy's alarming analysis of the state of the pureblood lines took on a whole new level of meaning. Befriending Ronald Weasley was on a whole different scale than serious considering marrying into the family -- from a Malfoy perspective.  
  
"Damn, Draco!" Weasley exclaimed suddenly. "If you're right, there's not going to be any such thing *as* a pureblood in a couple generations."  
  
"It's certainly not looking good for the Malfoy line, that's for sure. Of the purebloods left, there are, count them if you like -- I did -- forty females within 10 years of my age. Ten of the older ones are married already. We've discussed the 6th and 7th year Slytherins and Ravenclaws. Of the Hufflepuff and *Gryffindor*, there are only five purebloods, the rest all have direct muggle relations as close as three generations back. All but one of those five are currently taken.  
  
"Now, I realize that school time romances don't necessarily last, and that anyone of the girls here might end up available in the future, but if they're all smart, and actually care about lineage at all, they're not going to give up on those relationships with any sort of ease. Now, that leaves 18. Nine of those, are a full 10 years younger than am I . . . not even in school yet. They'll most likely hook up with someone far closer to their own age -- when they're old enough. That leaves one Gryffindor my age -- who has a date for the yule ball, by the way -- a whopping four women older than I am, one that's eight years older, one that's nine years older, and one that's ten years older. They'll most likely go for men their age or older. And last but not least, five that are younger than I am, but close enough to my age that age shouldn't make a difference . . . in a few years."  
  
Weasley frowned, not that he hadn't been throughout most of Malfoy's recitation, but it deepened. "Why do you care so much, Draco? You've got no one to answer to anymore. I," he hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with what he was going to say, "won't ask why you haven't mentioned muggle-borns. This whole discussion was about *lineage*, but does it really matter to you so much? Why completely disregard the girls that have muggle *great-grandparents*?"  
  
Malfoy jumped out of his seat. "You don't understand!" he shouted wincing as he received the standard warning glare from Madam Pince. "You said I don't have anyone to answer to?"  
  
Weasley nodded.  
  
"I sure as hell do! I'm the *last* Malfoy! I have a responsibility--"  
  
"To yourself, Draco. Even if you marry a non-pureblood, you'll still carry on the family name."  
  
"Merlin! I knew you wouldn't understand," Malfoy hissed, dropping back into his chair sullenly.  
  
"You're right, I don't."  
  
Malfoy leapt up again, storming toward the library exit.  
  
"Wait, Draco."  
  
Malfoy stopped, sighed, and looked over his shoulder. "Why? So we can yell at each other some more?" he asked, sounding defeated. "Ron, yes, I've mellowed, but I've not changed completely. I'm still the same person I was before. I have found you -- yes, to my very great surprise -- to be a very good and supportive friend, but I have *always* cared about lineage. If there are no purebloods left, what's to stop the eventual decline in number of witches and wizards born? Eventually the rate of birth of squibs will rise. I didn't believe in what Voldemort was doing, but I always have, and always will, believe in the necessity of maintaining the pureblood family lines."  
  
"That's never going to be something we agree on, Draco, I realize that. I'm not stupid enough to think that just because we managed to become friends that will suddenly change. But, I'd like the same chance I just gave you."  
  
Malfoy's eyes flared in surprise. "Quid pro quo?" he asked, turning fully around to face Weasley once more.  
  
Weasley shrugged. "Something like that. I just want a chance to freely say my piece too. That's what friends do, Draco."  
  
Eyes closing briefly, Draco took a deep breath then walked back to his chair. "Okay, I'm listening."  
  
Weasley grinned. "Now, I haven't done all the research you have."  
  
Malfoy snorted, which nicely covered the echoing one from Severus. Considering the fact that Weasley hadn't given this topic any serious thought until Malfoy brought it up, that was pretty much an overly obvious statement.  
  
"*But*, I don't think you've done proper research either."  
  
Malfoy protested automatically, but Weasley glared. "You said you were listening."  
  
With a frown, Malfoy subsided, but Severus could easily see the lingering indignation at the accusation of incomplete research. Severus understood *that* sentiment quite well, and he unconsciously stepped forward, intent on hearing Weasley's reasoning behind the unintended insult.  
  
"Professor Snape!" Weasley exclaimed, suddenly jumping up.  
  
**Merlin take it!** He hadn't planned on being seen. Now he had a choice. He was truly interested in what Weasley had to say, unfortunately, to say so would be far enough out of character that the poor boy would probably not be able to speak. He glided forward, stopping near the two boys, trying to decide just how best to proceed.  
  
Malfoy, surprising him, invited him to join them. "Weasley here, was about to tell me why he thought some research I've done was . . . not as complete as it should be for proper results."  
  
"Indeed?" Severus asked noncommittally, looking from one boy to the other, and looking thoroughly amused. "What, exactly were you researching?"  
  
The gleam in Malfoy's eye told him the boy knew he'd been listening; though, it didn't convey whether he'd just figured it out, or whether he'd known all along. If Severus had been a betting man, however, he'd bet that it had been obvious from his approach -- if he hadn't been actively interested in their conversation already, he wouldn't have stopped at all. Malfoy was simply being observant -- something he'd become quite good at over the years he'd spent in Slytherin house.  
  
"The decided lack of marriage prospects that are both pureblood *and* not considered close family relatives."  
  
"I see," Severus replied, trying *not* to smirk. Though he'd known the topic before being discovered, hearing it put exactly that way, as a topic between a *Weasley* and a *Malfoy*, was quite . . . humorous. Certainly it wasn't a conversation he would have expected the two of them to have . . . *ever* -- not before today anyway. He turned to face Weasley. "Please do go on, Mr. Weasley, I'm sure what you have to say is *quite* fascinating, particularly in regard to *this* subject."  
  
  
TBC  
Kiristeen  
Feedback; the food of the muses and very much craved. : )  
Kiristeen@kiristeen.com  
  
  
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	7. Chapter Six

Pantherocker -- Thank you. I hadn't really thought about that, but you're right. It really should come up at some point. Estranged or not, (and no, it hasn't been established whether they are or not, so you didn't miss that. lol) his brother's death would have a major affect on him.   
Candledot -- Thanks! We'll find out what happened to Hermione next chapter, absolute promise.  
Samantha -- Your wish is my command. : )~  
Darkwolf -- Thank you muchly. : ) Hermione stuff next two chapters (after this one).  
  
  
  
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Chapter Six  
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Weasley reddened, and gaped a couple of times before he found his voice. Watching it amused Severus. He was surprised to see it end rather quickly, however, as Weasley squared his shoulder and turned to face Malfoy, virtually ignoring Severus. At least, that's what the boy *tried* to do.  
  
"Actually," he began, "that wasn't quite the topic I was going to refute."  
  
"It wasn't?" Malfoy asked in surprise.  
  
The words echoed in Severus' thoughts. That was certainly the impression *he* had received. Damn! Maybe he was now stuck in a conversation he had absolutely no interest in.  
  
"No, it wasn't. You made a comment, about squibs, in relation to non-purebloods."  
  
**I stand corrected. This could be *very* interesting.**  
  
"And?" Malfoy retorted defensively. "It's obvious isn't it? Introduce muggle blood into the line and you're going to end up with a higher ratio of children who are squibs to those who are magical."  
  
"Have you actually researched the numbers?" Weasley pressed. "Or is this an assumption?"  
  
Malfoy blinked.  
  
Severus ignored the boy's response, surprised by his own. He didn't know whether Malfoy had actually taken the time to research the numbers or not, but *he* certainly hadn't. It was the obvious connection to make, after all. And right now, he felt highly stupid to have made that assumption. Correct or not, wasn't relevant. The point being, a logical person did not stand by a perspective that was made on an assumption. Extensive research, with facts to back up your assertions, that's what learned people did.  
  
He kept his mouth shut, needing -- for a change -- to keep his own ignorance quiet. It wasn't often Severus found himself in a position like this, and he discovered he *really* didn't like it. He turned to look at Malfoy pointedly, his expression asking very directly whether what Weasley claimed was true.  
  
Malfoy shifted under that intense gaze, flicking his eyes back to Weasley. With a sigh, he finally shook his head. "No, I didn't think it was necessary. It seemed -- and still does -- so obvious."  
  
"Hmmm," Snape murmured disapprovingly, instantly slipping back into 'professor' mode. "Perhaps you should research it, Mr. Malfoy. Your views on this subject are quite well known, having been so . . . vehemently attested to in the past. It would be . . . embarrassing to have an opponent be able to provide documentation to the contrary, would it not?"  
  
Mouth agape for a fraction of a second, Malfoy suddenly sat up straight. "You don't really believe that's possible, do you Professor?"  
  
Severus merely arched a disdainful eyebrow. "Surely, you do not expect me to answer that, *Mr.* Malfoy. Do the work yourself. I look forward to seeing your *complete* results. In fact, I'm going to make it a project for you and Mr. Weasley."  
  
"ME?!" Weasley exclaimed in surprise.  
  
"Yes, you, Mr. Weasley. You are the one who brought it up, are you not? Who better a partner? I expect to see significant progress in a week's time. The entirety of your compiled and sorted data will be due at the end of winter break."  
  
Both boys groaned -- loudly -- at the idea of such a huge undertaking over what was supposed to be a holiday. They would *already* have the standard holiday work from all their classes.  
  
"You will have precisely two weeks after school resumes to hand in your essays on the collected data."  
  
"How long does it have to be?" Malfoy asked, shoulders slumped in defeat.  
  
Snape smirked. "As long as it needs to be to be complete. I expect you to thoroughly document the birth rate from all five groups; squib births, witch and wizard births -- including relative ability levels of said births, muggle births, etc. for the past 200 years. Of course, the muggle data will be more difficult to collect in full . . . especially beyond a hundred years ago. Clearly, I cannot expect you to gather information that hasn't been actually stored anywhere, so I will be more . . . lenient on less fully realized data for the muggle side of the equation. You're not trying to ascertain the whys and wherefors of muggleborn births specifically, after all.   
  
"Also, I expect a side essay from each of you of at least one meter length, espousing the theories that can be arrived at from the data you will have provided by then. Oh, and do remember that if your theories do *not* match the data you gather," he said, grinning smugly from one boy to the other, "you will *fail* this project. Personal biases do not belong in proper research."  
  
"But, Sir!" both protested, Malfoy continuing alone. "That's a master's thesis you're asking for!"  
  
"I'm afraid not, Mr. Malfoy. It is actually only a rather ambitious 7th year project. If I were asking a Master's project of you, I would require data correlated on the last 300 years minimum, and would suggest 500 for higher accuracy. I would also add that you would be required to hypothesize the *future* number of births based on current pairings, the relative frequency of squibs in female children vs male children, and whether or not there is any correlation *there* in regard to each of the five classes. Additionally, I would require the essay to be at *least* three meters for a basic low-level passing grade. Of course, if either of you were actually up to doing master's grade work, I wouldn't have needed to explain any of that."  
  
Both boys gaped at him.  
  
Weasley jumped up. "That won't be necessary, Professor. We're quite happy with the original assignment," he said hastily, as if he feared to actually receive a master's thesis assignment. "Aren't we, Draco?"  
  
Rolling his eyes, Malfoy nodded, his voice slightly sour as he spoke. "Yes, quite happy," he replied.  
  
"Good," Snape nodded firmly. Then smirking, continued. "Since this *is* such an ambitious undertaking, it certainly qualifies as a double 7th year project. I believe the subject matter qualifies as a project for both History of Magic and Muggle studies. I will speak to the Professors of both subjects for their assent in the matter."  
  
"Thank you, Professor," both replied weakly, relief showing clearly on both faces. Obviously, they'd thought it was going to be *extra* work.   
  
Truth be told, he'd considered it, but acknowledged the fact that even with two of them, finishing the project was going to take considerable time and effort -- time they wouldn't have if adjustments weren't made. He was interested enough in the results to go to the trouble of actually making that adjustment, and he was pretty sure that the headmaster and the muggle studies professor would also. Binns, probably wouldn't care, but then, he was a ghost, of course he wouldn't -- though Snape was reasonably certain the professor would agree it would make a suitable project.  
  
Nodding one last time to the two boys, Severus headed toward the exit. He half turned just as he reached it as if he'd just thought of a new tidbit. "Don't forget the possibility of a magical ancestor when you figure your data on muggleborns." Holding back the real smile at the gobsmacked look of horror the two boys exchanged, Severus quickly left.  
  
**That ought to keep the two of them out of trouble over the holidays,** he thought in satisfaction. **Quite in addition to getting the information I want.** He was worried about both of them, but Malfoy particularly. Weasley had lost his sister yes, but Malfoy had pretty much lost his entire world. This would be the first holidays *After*. Now, however, Malfoy would not suddenly find himself bereft of his surprising friend at a time when he needed the other boy most -- and he wouldn't even have to ask.  
  
Severus smirked as he suddenly realized the rather interesting predicament he'd put the two of them in. Either they both stayed here for the break, or they both ended up at the burrow. Laughing, he was pretty sure he knew which way *that* decision would go, but considering all the recent surprises, he wasn't willing to lay any galleons on it.  
  
**One problem solved,** he thought as he made his way toward his office. It would certainly be nice if all the remaining problems could be solved so easily. His good mood lasted approximately four and a half minutes all of ten seconds after reaching his destination.  
  
Leaning against the wall next to his office door was none other than Harry Potter. And while he no longer maintained the absolutely loathing with which he'd viewed the boy for so long, neither was he, in any way, shape or form, Severus' favorite person. He sincerely doubted they would *ever* do more than tolerate each other.  
  
"Mr. Potter," he greeted drily, "to what do I owe this unexpected *pleasure*?" he continued, the dry quality of his voice turning quite sour by the time he finished.  
  
Potter straightened immediately at his approach, and though wincing at the obvious sarcasm, faced him squarely. "I need your help, Professor," he said clearly. "I believe you're the only one, other than the headmaster who can help me."  
  
Eyebrow up sharply, but intrigued despite his own desire to have nothing to do with Potter outside of class, he nodded once. Something that would drive the Potter boy to come to *him* for help was bound to be . . . interesting. Efficiently removing the wards on his office, he waved the boy inside the room before him. Wondering at the ease with which the boy had asked for help from probably his least favorite person still living . . . *apparent* ease, he amended silently as he watched Potter sink into a chair, Severus followed silently. The boy sat stiffly straight, his posture as rigid as Severus had ever seen it.  
  
Frowning slightly, Severus swept around his desk, dropping gracefully into the chair behind it. "So, Mr. Potter, what can I help you with?" he asked, intrigued enough that his voice lacked its normal sting. Giving a purely mental wince of his own, he berated himself. All this . . . interest . . . in student activities was making him soft, he decided firmly, resolving to step back and recollect himself as soon as possible.  
  
"Professor," Potter blurted, "either Hermione is still alive, or I'm going completely crazy."  
  
**So much potential lost!**  
  
"Well," Severus replied carefully, completing ignoring his own reaction to this subject being brought up again, well aware this was well beyond touchy enough to avoid using his normal approach. "I'm sure you're quite well aware of my position on the likelihood of Miss Granger's survival."  
  
"Yes, yes," Potter interrupted, much to Severus' surprise, waving him off in irritation. Potter jumped up from his seat immediately after to begin pacing in agitation. "The problem is, I obviously can't talk to Ron about this, because, sore point. Major sore point. The headmaster might be able to help, but I'm not really sure I trust him to."  
  
Severus' eyebrow shot up for the umpteenth time. This time, however, he felt his jaw going the other way, and hastily stopped its progress. "You are aware, are you not," he asked as drily as he could considering the shock he was experiencing, "that you just implied that you do trust *me*?"  
  
Slumping visibly, Potter stopped pacing, but didn't look at him for several moments of silence. When Potter did turn to face him, the look of despair in the boy's face as their eyes locked, shook him . . . deeply. "I trust you more than I trust him," was the whispered reply.  
  
"Why-ever for?!" Severus exclaimed incredulously, shooting up from his chair to glare at the insolent child in front of him.  
  
Still without so much as a blink, Potter slowly approached him. "Because *both* of you are sneaky bastards, but at least you're honest about it."  
  
Severus Snape felt the laugh build, tried, but couldn't stop it. The short, loud, belly laugh exploded from him completely contrary to his wishes.  
  
Potter stepped back in startlement.  
  
Clearing his throat, Severus sat down carefully. "You have a point, Potter," he said carefully, very wary of his own reactions at this point. "Sit. Tell me what you think I can do to help you. I cannot guarantee I'll be any good at it, however. I am most definitely not the headmaster, nor am I Minerva McGonagall. You would be *wise* to take that into consideration before continuing."  
  
Potter gamely stepped forward; though, the boy was back to eyeing him warily. "I've been having these dreams," he said softly, closing his eyes. "They're different from the ones I used to get because of Voldemort, but they're also way different from the 'normal' dreams I have. I don't really know how to explain it, really. They just feel like they're *more* than just dreams."  
  
Eyes narrowing, Severus leaned forward. "What are you dreaming about, specifically."  
  
"Hermione, 'specifically', " Potter replied evenly. "Sometimes I see things that probably happened to her. She's screaming stupid things about her childhood while Mr. Malfoy tortures her. Other times I see--" Potter gulped, paling. "Other times I see Malfoy pulling away from her, she's on the ground, she--"  
  
"I get the picture, Mr. Potter, you do not need to continue that description."  
  
"Thank you," Potter replied faintly. "Yet other times, I see Malfoy running toward flares of magical energy, and then watch as Hermione crawls slowly in the opposite direction."  
  
  
TBC  
Kiristeen  
Feedback, as always very much treasured. : )~  
Kiristeen@kiristeen.com  
  
  
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	8. Chapter Seven

Magicrules, Kdarkmaiden, Cephyse, Samantha -- Thanks to you all. I was wrong about the Hermione parts, so I'm going to post two chapters today. Some info on Hermione this chapter, but not much.  
  
  
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Chapter Seven  
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Severus waited until his office door closed behind Potter before he bolted for his washroom. As he bent over the toilet relieving his body of every bit of food left in his stomach, he was forcibly grateful he hadn't managed to eat before assenting to Potter's request.   
  
Not able to tell, himself, whether his dreams were the result of his own imagination and overdeveloped sense of guilt, or whether they were visions of some sort, the boy had wanted him to delve into them directly, via Occlumency, to determine the reality of the situation. More than surprised at the boy's willingness to go through that--  
  
**Merlin! Am I getting sick of being surprised,** he thought sourly, remembering a time, such a short while ago that he'd felt he was incapable of feeling that unpleasant emotion.  
  
--he'd finally agreed. Of course, at the moment he'd made that agreement, he had firmly believed the dreams to be nothing more than a combination of wishful thinking, combined with a vivid imagination that knew only too well what happened to muggleborns unlucky enough to be captured by Voldemort's death-eaters.  
  
Severus could not remember a time when he'd been proven so utterly wrong so soundly before. Not even the truth about Sirius Black's innocence -- at least in regard to murder and the betrayal of James and Lily Potter -- had he been so wrong. In the case of Sirius Black all the evidence had pointed to his guilt, that combined with his own less than pleasant history with the man, had made the . . . mistake, understandable.  
  
This time, however, he'd made an *ASSUMPTION*, one that wasn't based on any hard evidence. On the contrary, it had been based on previous cases, coupled with a second assumption that there had been ample time before the Order's attack to 'finish off' with Miss Granger. Apparently, if the visions Potter was seeing were accurate, and he now had no reason to believe they weren't, Miss Hermione Granger was still alive -- or was alive at the time of their attack. She had, at minimum, lived long enough to crawl away from the scene of her own torture and rape.  
  
He stomach twisted again, trying to expel what was no longer there. Severus had no clue why this affected him so profoundly. As a death-eater, both in reality and as a spy, he had seen much worse than what occurred to Miss Granger. Worse, more by numbers than because of actual damage to a single person, however. If there was any accuracy to what he'd seen in Potter's mind, it was more than evident that the elder Malfoy had been carrying out a rather personal vendetta against Miss Granger, one he cared about at least as much as the information he'd been trying to get from her.  
  
Unfortunately, the dreams were not . . . extensive enough to let them know where she was now, just that she had managed to leave the area. Potter had come to him for reassurance, really, more than confirmation. He'd wanted to believe they were just dreams, almost as much as he wanted to believe Hermione was alive.   
  
He'd had to deny the first and grant the second -- to a degree. The visions hadn't meant she was still alive *now*, merely that she'd survived her assault. Of course, Potter hadn't understood that. He'd wanted to know why he'd be having the bloody -- quite literally -- visions if she wasn't still alive.  
  
He'd had to point out that he doubted Potter was a true seer. Trelawney, incompetent though she was in most things, could spot someone with the gift a mile off. His nightmares about Voldemort had been caused by the connection inadvertently created by dark wizard himself. Severus had reluctantly explained that his nightmares about Hermione, were likely caused by the close friendship they'd shared over the past nearly seven years, combined with the fact that he'd probably stood on the very spot where Malfoy had left the girl to die.  
  
Potter hadn't liked that one bit. He'd ranted and raled at the unfairness of her having survived all that to die only because *they* -- himself and Ron included -- hadn't looked for her hard enough, hadn't searched far enough. They had all given up simply because none of them had thought she'd have been able to leave the area on her own.  
  
In the end, Severus had ordered him to consume a calming potion, pointing out that getting hysterical was not going to help matters, regardless of whether Miss Granger was alive or not. He'd then promised the boy, a renewed search would be made and given him a dreamless sleep potion, making Potter swear he'd go straight to his room, drink it, and sleep. Severus had threatened, just before the boy passed out of the room and into the hall, he would send someone to check on him in precisely twenty minutes.  
  
The calming potion, by then, had kicked in, and Potter had nodded calmly and left, dreamless sleep potion in hand.  
  
Severus sighed, closing his eyes -- though that wasn't the brightest thing he'd done in a while -- as soon as he did so, the images he'd seen in young Potter's mind instantly began replaying on the backs of his eyelids like a muggle movie screen. He snapped his eyes open and lurched to his feet. He had to speak to the headmaster immediately. Beyond the search that had followed that 'day' to rescue survivors and to recover the bodies of the fallen, no extra effort had been put in to find Miss Granger. He hadn't been the only one to make assumptions about the chances for her survival. The lack of a body hadn't even seemed suspicious. After all, they captured her before the attack, more than 24 hours before, in fact. Which in his, and all the other experts' opinions, led directly to the seemingly incontrovertible conclusion that she was dead and her body had been disposed of.  
  
No one had believed that a school girl, no matter how studious, no matter how stubborn, could hold out against torture. No student could possibly be prepared for the reality that was torture. No lecture, no pictures, no nightmares even, were close enough to the real thing to prepare anyone to withstand that kind of thing. At the time, they *all* assumed she would break quickly, and had taken steps to protect themselves in the wake of her knowledge.  
  
**Gods above,** Snape thought with incredible guilt. He'd always hated assumptions. They were stupid, noninformative, and more than half time, entirely incorrect. Yet, now, he was being forced to face the fact that not only once, but twice he'd allowed mere assumptions to rule his decisions. The first one had created the disaster that could be labeled as his life. It had led indirectly to his joining Voldemort. While it certainly hadn't been his reason for doing so, his disdain for muggleborn had certainly played a part.  
  
This time, while the effects of his assumption were far less wide spread, they were no less devastating. Had he not assumed--  
  
**There were others who did the same,** he thought defensively. **It wasn't my fault.**  
  
He shook himself. He'd never been one to lay blame elsewhere. It didn't matter that others had agreed; it only mattered what *he* did. Oh, he wasn't so self-centered as to believe that he was the cause of it all, and the he could have come riding to the rescue. No, that was much too Gryffindor an attitude to take. What he was upset about, was that by the very nature of his assumption he had allowed a student to suffer longer than she had to. He had allowed his personal beliefs about the student to color the conclusion he came to -- which he should not have done. He knew better than that.  
  
//Do you? Seems to me you do it all the time.//  
  
With a groan for the sudden arrival of his usually underactive conscience, Severus came to a halt outside the gargoyle guarding the headmaster's office. Quickly muttering the inane password, he bolted onto the moving stairs as soon as the entrance opened to him. He wasn't surprised to find the office empty. In all likelihood, Albus was sleeping. He moved swiftly across the cluttered office and stopped in front of the door that lead to the older man's private quarters. There, he knocked. Well, he raised his hand to knock. The door opened before he could, the headmaster standing right there in his nightclothes, blinking into the sudden light.  
  
"What can I do for you, Severus?" he asked.  
  
Severus hastily backed up, allowing the headmaster to emerge. As soon as they were ensconced in less personal space, he quickly told the headmaster about his meeting with Potter. The standard amusement that could almost always be seen in the headmaster's eyes, no matter the circumstances, disappeared early in Severus' explanation.  
  
"Are you certain, Severus?"  
  
Slumped back in his chair, Severus could only shake his head. "As certain as I can be, Albus. You know as well as I do that these things are never 100 percent. For all we know, she could have survived just long enough to crawl away. If what I saw from Potter's nightmares is in anyway an accurate portrayal of her condition when we attacked, she very well might have been fatally wounded. And before you ask, yes, what I saw was in line with previous victims I've seen."  
  
"I'll contact the Order immediately, Severus. We have to make sure."  
  
Severus nodded; those were his thoughts exactly. "There's one more thing, warn them to include a woman in each search party that goes out."  
  
Albus frowned, but understanding dawned all too quickly, his rise from behind his desk aborted abruptly.   
  
Severus didn't make him ask. "As far as Potter has 'seen', it appears that only Lucius took her, but it's entirely possible it wasn't just him."  
  
"That poor child," Albus murmured as he rose. "I'll owl the Order now, hopefully we can have search parties out by next daybreak."  
  
Nodding, Severus stood and swept out of the headmaster's office. He had absolutely no desire to stay and discuss the situation. He still had the disturbing images flashing through his mind any second he wasn't concentrated solely on something else.   
  
When he had to attend a revel in the days before the Dark Lord's final defeat, he had always steeled himself beforehand, prepared himself for what he knew he would see, and sometimes be forced to participate in. There was a special place in his mind that he ritually placed what he saw in order to keep it out of his daily thoughts. Of course, because of that, they tended to come out far more forcefully in his own dreams, but that was better than seeing it all the time.  
  
What he'd found in Potter's mind had been unexpected, despite the boy's explanations; though, he supposed it really shouldn't have been. Potter had spent most of his time at Hogwarts with an half-open pipeline directly to Voldemort. The boy had seen so much that it shouldn't have been surprising he'd seen as much of what had, in all probability, happened to Miss Granger. Despite should haves, Severus needed time to place each horrific picture into that place, that neat and tidy little box.  
  
Unfortunately, he had a stop to make before he returned to his chambers. He had to make sure Potter really had taken the dreamless sleep potion and was, in fact, sound asleep in his bed. It would be just like the brat to run off on his own instead of leaving it to those far better equipped to handle the search.  
  
  
TBC  
Kirsteen  
Feedback; as always mucho appreciated. : )  
Kiristeen@kiristeen.com  
  
  
.  



	9. Chapter Eight

AN: Second Chapter as promised. : )  
  
AN: I have no idea of the layout of Hogwarts, but in my mind's eye, I see the front door opening into a grand entry hall. Immediately off the the left and right are hallways -- one of which I picture leading to the Headmaster's office. Just a little further up this hall I picture the entrance to the Great Hall on one side and the Library on the other. The rest of the castle hasn't got that kind of consideration from me, but this part has been inescapable from nearly the beginning. Hope my layout doesn't conflict too badly with anyone elses view.  
  
Secondly, I'm not sure if it's every revealed in the books, but for the purposes of this story, I'm going to assume that winter break starts around December 20th.  
  
  
  
  
**********  
Chapter Eight  
**********  
  
  
Draco made his way pensively from the Great Hall toward the library. He didn't really want to do this project, wanted absolutely nothing to do with it in fact. Spending Saturday, even if it wasn't a Hogsmeade weekend, researching in the library wasn't exactly his idea of fun -- especially the last Saturday before winter break.   
  
Unfortunately, he didn't have any choice in the matter. Professor Snape expected progress, and he and Ron had already successfully procrastinated three days of their allowed week away. Last night, they'd finally agreed they needed to buckle down, and that they'd spend this morning at least organizing their project and how, exactly, they were going to go about it. They needed, if nothing else, to at least figure out where they needed to look to find the bloody data.  
  
He already knew where to find some of it, of course. The ministry of magic had a hall of births, where all births to magical parents were recorded the moment the child was born; it didn't even matter if the child was alive or not at the time of birth. He knew that from personal experience, his stillborn sister was registered there. They just had to have had at least one magical parent.  
  
They could find the muggleborn students in the archives of the school registry lists. Those would also tell them which of the wizarding births had been born with power -- of course, also letting them know which ones were squibs simply by their name not being listed for any of the schools. Even if a child never attended school, if they were born a witch or wizard, they appeared. Such was the magical world they lived in.  
  
He had less than no clue where they'd look to find out about muggle births, and finding the full names of the muggle-born students' parents to research their ancestry was just as much a puzzle to him. He could only hope that Ron, with his father's strange interest in all things muggle, might know more about that end of their project.  
  
If all else failed, maybe they could appeal to the older Weasley as a 'source'. It was certainly better than nothing; though he never thought he'd see the day he'd be asking Arthur Weasley for anything. He'd certainly had to listen to enough of his father's rants about the man's ineptitude in general. Now, though, he wondered how much of it was accurate.  
  
Sighing as he reached the library and noticed that Ron was nowhere to be seen, Draco set his supplies on a table and sat, quickly writing down the information he'd already thought of. By the time he'd finished, Ron stomped in and dropped gracelessly into the chair across from him.  
  
"You're late," Draco said sharply.  
  
"I know," Ron replied shortly. "What have you got so far?"  
  
"Not much," he answered sourly, handing over the parchment he'd been writing on.  
  
Ron nodded and handed it back. "There are several places to look for muggle births. One: a place called City Hall, apparently there's one for every town -- course it helps if you know what town they were born in. Two: a place called the Census Bureau. That's a group that keeps track of where all the muggles are living, how many kids they got living with him, who their family is, what kind of jobs they have, stuff like that. And then when we get to the point we need to track backward, there are all sorts of places that story historical documents like family histories and stuff. According to my father the most famous place is in America near some big lake -- a town called Spice River City, or some such. I'll ask him to be sure. He'll probably know where we can look for other countries too."  
  
Draco nodded absently as he quickly copied down the places Ron mentioned. None of the names or places meant anything to him, but they would still be a reminder. When he was finished, he looked up. "With that census thing you mentioned, it should be a lot easier than I thought to get the muggle information."  
  
"Only for the most recent part of our project, and only for those born in or now living in America. That Spice City place, that's for America too, though Dad says that some of the records go back to before they migrated there."  
  
The two of them spent the next hour occupied by bouncing ideas off each other, and ended up with quite a bit of information compiled. Every once in a while, Ron would bounce up out of his seat and head into the stacks. He'd come back with a book, Draco hadn't even realized was in the library, and instruct him to add it to their list of source information. Finally, the eighth time Ron did it, Draco threw down the quill and stared at the redhead when he returned.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I just never really pictured you being much into research, but it looks to me like you really know this library," Draco said, absolutely mystified.  
  
Ron shrugged, a crooked half-grin appearing -- though the expression didn't reach his eyes. "Hermione was the research queen, really," he said, his voice subdued. "It's just that Harry ended up in the hospital wing so much, I was usually the one stuck here helping. I got to be book gopher most of the time so I kinda learned my way around by the sheer repetition, looking for that book she *absolutely* had to have."  
  
Draco nodded knowingly, smirking. "Now *that* makes sense," he replied evenly, then continued, not sure he should. "Didn't mean to bring up bad stuff."  
  
Ron smiled at him, this time a touch of light reaching his eyes. "You didn't. Good memories really. She was fun to twit when she was in serious research or study mode. Didn't take much to set her off on one of her tangents, you know? It's just-- Merlin, Draco! It hurts that she's not here."  
  
Draco wasn't sure what to do or say. He'd never liked Granger -- for obvious reasons and not so obvious reasons -- unfortunately Ron had. Draco frowned, searching. "You two seemed really close," he finally ventured.  
  
Ron nodded, his eyes watering.  
  
**Oh, Merlin! Don't cry. We're in public for cryin out loud!** Draco shifted uneasily. He didn't like it when girls cried, let alone blokes. To his everlasting gratitude, Ron didn't cry. Instead, he took a deep breath and wiped his eyes angrily.  
  
"Sorry," he muttered. "Hey, look," he continued, jumping up suddenly. "I think we've done enough for today. We can come back tomorrow and do more. We'll be able to at least start in on the few books here that will help us."  
  
Draco didn't really agree, but he understood the guy's need to leave. He'd almost *cried*. That had to be embarrassing. Sighing, he nodded. "Same time?" he asked, slowly gathering up their work.  
  
Ron agreed hastily and beat a quick retreat. The redhead was out the door before Draco had finished putting everything in order. He hadn't even made it to the door when Ron came barreling back in.  
  
"Sorry, but I totally forgot to tell you. I let my folks know I needed to stay over winter break. They okayed all but the last two weeks."  
  
Draco frowned. "But we'll need that time to put the final touches on everything. That's the most important time of the whole project!"  
  
"I know," Ron agreed. "But--"  
  
"Couldn't you owl them and get them to change it to a different two weeks? I mean, what does it matter *which* two weeks, as long as you spend two weeks with them?"  
  
"I tried that already, believe me. Apparently, that's the only time both Bill and Charlie could get time off, and Mum and Dad want everyone home at the same time."  
  
"How the bloody hell are we supposed to finish our project if we're two separate places?" Draco demanded angrily, his mind furiously trying to come up with a way to do it. He really didn't see them getting it completely finished a whole two weeks ahead of schedule, it would take the whole time alotted *and* it would take both of them. Professor Snape had not been exaggerating when he'd said it was an 'ambitious' project, in fact he'd been underestimating it by quite a bit. Even if the git *didn't* consider it a master's thesis, it was close enough as to make no never mind.  
  
"We-ll," Ron began, dragging the word out.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I thought of a way."  
  
"And?"  
  
"You're not going to like it," Ron hedged.  
  
Draco narrowed his eyes. "What . Is . Your . Idea?"  
  
"I asked, and," Ron said, finishing in a mumbled rush, squeezing his eyes shut, "bothMumandDadsaiditwasokayifyoucamewithme."  
  
Draco blinked. Ron couldn't have suggested with he *thought* Ron just suggested. Surely, he'd mis-heard. "Say that again, and this time . . . *speak English*."  
  
Ron slumped. "I asked, and both my Mum and my Dad said it was okay if you came with me. You know, when I explained about the huge project and all."  
  
Shock waved through Draco. Him? At the Burrow? For part of winter break? That was something *Harry Potter* did, not Draco Malfoy.  
  
"Say something, Draco," Ron pleaded. "Please."  
  
Draco tried; he really did, but all that came out was a strange cracked squawk.  
  
Ron wilted. "Oh, come on, Draco, I realize it isn't exactly the Malfoy Estate Manor, but it can't be *that* bad!" he snapped, spinning away.  
  
Draco snapped out of his daze in time to grab Ron's sleeve as he began stomping off. "Ron, wait."  
  
Sullen, eyes angry, Ron turned and faced him. "Why should I?" he asked.  
  
Draco almost smirked. It was a reversal -- almost -- of the night that had gotten them the project in the first place.  
  
"Because it isn't what you think. I was just shocked, that's all."  
  
"Shocked?" Ron repeated, disbelieving.  
  
"Yes," Draco confirmed, "shocked." He sighed. He really didn't know how to explain it. "Who always spends part of his breaks at your home?" he asked, willing Ron to understand so he didn't *have* to put it into words. He wasn't entirely certain he could, not and make Ron understand.  
  
Ron frowned. "A lot of people do," he said. "I mean, we're a pretty big family."  
  
Draco rolled his eyes. "Well, *duh*, that's like the biggest *not* secret in the wizarding world, Ron. The name Weasley is rather synonymous with 'big family'."  
  
"Don't forget poor, *Malfoy*!"  
  
Taking a deep breath, Draco ignored the taunt, outwardly anyway, part of him *really* wanted to lash back. Instead, he got back to his original question. "I *meant* who besides your family usually ends up spending part of *his* break with you at your home?"  
  
Ron's eyes widened. "Oh! Well, yeah, he'll probably be there, too, but I thought you two were getting along pretty well now, and I didn't--"  
  
"That's *not* why I brought it up!"  
  
Rearing back, Ron frowned. "Well, why did you then?" He seemed honestly confused.  
  
At this point, Draco wasn't even sure anymore. "Just forget it. It's not that big a deal. It's just for the last 7 bloody years, it's been a trademark of Harry Potter's life. It makes it feel . . . odd . . . you know?"  
  
Ron grinned then; though his eyes seemed sad -- which Draco didn't understand until the red-headed prat opened his mouth. "Well, Hermione was a pretty regular guest too, you know . . . if that comparison makes you feel any better."  
  
Draco's jawed dropped open. "You didn't just--" he started, but didn't finish.  
  
"I did!" Ron squeaked, whirled and took off, hitting the library doors at a full tilt run.  
  
Shock held him in place for a split-second then Draco pelted after the red-headed fiend, slipping through the doors just before they swung shut. Fully expecting to have a full-out, castle-over chase on his hands, Draco was startled to run literally into Ron's back almost the moment he passed into the hall.  
  
"Hermione!" Ron exclaimed breathlessly, standing stock still  
  
Stumbling backward, falling quite inelegantly onto his arse-end, Draco frowned up at Ronald Weasley's back. "You're not supposed to be *easy* to catch, Weasley. You're supposed to--"  
  
"What are you talking about?" Draco asked scrambling to his feet as he realized the hall wasn't exactly empty. Several professors, as well as students, were milling near the front door. As he stepped to the side he caught sight of what, exactly, Ron had been referring to. He almost couldn't believe it. Wasn't she supposed to be dead? She'd turned toward them and was staring at Ron in confusion.  
  
With a minute shift of posture, she was staring at him. He frowned as her eyes seemed to glaze over, her expression growing slack, but what really startled him was when she started screaming. Draco took a step forward, not understanding her rather extreme response. Sure, they'd never gotten along, hated each other, in fact, but wasn't screaming like a banshee at the sight of him a little ridiculous?  
  
  
TBC  
Kiristeen  
Feedback; it's a necessary part of an author's life. : )  
Kiristeen@kiristeen.com  
  
  
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	10. Chapter Nine

  
Thanks to everyone who reviewed! : ) You made my day. Is now too soon for Hermione to come in? LOL  
  
**********  
Chapter Nine  
**********  
  
  
Severus strode toward the front hall, irritated by the interruption. Saturdays were supposed to be his, barring the occasional patrol, student scuffle, or preplanned detention. Albus, however, having to leave on urgent business -- Severus suspected his absence was connected to the continuing search for the Granger girl -- had divided the headmaster's official duties between Minerva and himself. He'd been the lucky one to get linked to the alarms placed on the school's entrances. At first, he'd liked the idea. It was the one duty he'd thought least likely to result in him running all over the castle. He'd been wrong.  
  
Albus had not been out of the castle proper for more than thirty minutes when the alarms signalling the arrival of non-hostile guests had gone off. No one but him, and presumably Minerva heard them. They were set up that way purposely, so as not to interrupt the daily schedule of the professors and students. Usually, Severus appreciated that fact. Right now, however, he hated it. Traveling from the dungeons to greet unwanted guests at the front door wasn't his idea of a pleasant stroll -- the castle was bloody huge!  
  
He swept into the main hall at precisely the same moment as Minerva, he noticed. With a near snort of amusement, he realized they couldn't possibly have timed it better had they prepared before hand. From opposite directions they closed in on the two guests who, deep in quiet conversation, saw neither of them approach. Minerva only a moment before he, recognized one and froze.  
  
"Miss Granger?" she breathed incredulously, raising a trembling hand to her mouth. It was clear she was hoping she wasn't merely hallucinating.  
  
Eyes narrowing, Severus felt differently. This _student_ had put her friends and a good many of her professors through hell. He, for one, wanted to know where the hell she'd been.  
  
"Miss Granger!" he snapped, striding toward her and the woman next to her. "Kindly explain your extended absence!"  
  
Both women jumped, Granger, wide-eyed, ducked behind the older woman.  
  
"You know her?" the stranger asked, her eyes flashing angrily, hands on hips, feet planted shoulder width apart.  
  
"Of course, I do," he snapped. "Who are you?"  
  
"Severus!" Minerva exclaimed. "Wait for an explanation before you go on a tear, please. There's quite likely an explana--"  
  
"There _always_ is," Severus retorted angrily. _ Everything for the precious Gryffindors, no sin too sinful to forgive, no crime too heinous to expiate._  
  
"Please, don't fight," Miss Granger asked quietly, her subdued voice little more than a whisper. "Could you please answer a question?" she continued, directing the question toward Minerva; though, she darted a wary glance his way.  
  
"Of course, but you are going to have to tell us what kept you away."  
  
Miss Granger nodded. "What is my name? Did I attend school here, as Mrs. Annetti seems to think likely?"  
  
_What?!_  
  
Beside him, Minerva seemed to wilt, her throat moving convulsively in a horrified swallow. "You don't remember?"  
  
Miss Granger shook her head. "No Ma'am. I woke up in this woman's home -- Mrs. Annetti -- she nursed me back to health. I was very wounded you see. But in all that time, I've never remembered one thing from before her home."  
  
To say he was shocked would have been to state the bloody obvious. Of all the scenarios that had entered his mind, this had not even been close to one of them.  
  
"You're name is Hermione Granger, and yes, you _do_ attend school here," Minerva offered shakily.  
  
"I'm still a student then?" Granger asked quietly, throwing a worried glance to her companion.  
  
Severus frowned. Why would that concern her so much? What possible difference could it make? He remained silent, listening to the tale unfold.  
  
Mrs. Annetti stepped closer to her patient, giving her a comforting smile before turning to face Minerva. She seemed to ignore him, which suited Severus just fine. "She's been recuperating quite well in my family's home after we found her near to dead. I cast a very low level protection from location charm, to hide her from casual searches. I'm all too aware of what kind of people would do such things to a young girl. It wasn't very strong, however, and easily broached if anyone was interested enough to do an intensive location spell.  
  
"No one did, until last night. Someone is looking for her, someone that found her. It wasn't until then that I managed to convince her to come to Hogwarts to seek aid. Even if no one knew her, the headmaster is well known for helping protect those in need."  
  
Severus frowned, wondering if the spell was Albus' doing, or whether someone else had cast it. "Your family, are they still in your home?" he asked. If it had been any of the remaining death-eaters -- though, he had no reason to believe it had been -- her family might be in danger.  
  
"Of course not," Mrs. Annetti replied immediately, "they're visiting relatives until we can figure out whether friend or foe is on the hunt."  
  
Severus nodded. "It's possible it was the headmaster or his associates who cast the spell. Until recently Miss Granger was assumed to be deceased. New . . . information led us to reopen the search."  
  
"The headmaster is currently not in-residence, but he will be returning this evening," Minerva jumped in, stepping toward Miss Granger. "Mrs. Annetti, you and your family are in our debt for helping Miss Granger. Please, consider yourself our guest, and tonight, when the headmaster returns you can speak with him directly regarding your concerns for you and your family's safety."  
  
"Hermione!"  
  
_Weasley!_  
  
Severus turned slowly, and almost laughed as Draco ran directly into the frozen Weasley's back.  
  
"You're not supposed to be _easy_ to catch, Weasley. You're supposed to--" Draco taunted, his words cutting off mid-sentence. "What are you talking about?" he demanded petulantly, scrambling quickly to his feet and immediately stepping around the still frozen in place red-head. It didn't take the boy long to figure out what had his companion so enthralled.  
  
Severus smirked as the blond's jaw dropped. _Red and white bookends,_ he thought with amusement. The abrupt shrill, ear-piercing scream that sounded behind him cut off all amusement. He spun around, instantly ready to face anything -- except what he faced. Miss Granger's startling scream cut off just as abruptly as it had began as she suddenly went limp and fell gracelessly.  
  
He leapt forward, but Minerva and Mrs. Annetti, closer, reached her side before he did, both managing to catch her before she hit the stone floor.  
  
With eyes spitting anger, Mrs. Annetti glared at him. "Is it possible that either one of those boys is responsible for what happened to her," she demanded loudly, the venom in her voice promising dire circumstances if the answer was yes.  
  
"No," Severus hissed, quietly, reluctantly continuing when it appeared the dragon-like Mrs. Annetti just might question the boys to verify his answer. He reached out and grabbed her arm, forestalling her movement. Under his hand she stiffened, her glare deepening. "But it is possible that someone _older_, that happens to look a lot _like_ one of them is."  
  
It took only a second for the woman's eyes to widen in understanding, then relax under his grip. He tentatively released her, hoping she really did understand what he'd been hinting. He didn't want Draco Malfoy traumatised any more than he already was.  
  
"We need to get Miss Granger to the hospital wing," Minerva said firmly. Rising to her feet, she drew her wand.  
  
"No," Mrs. Annetti denied instantly, shielding Miss Granger. "No magic."  
  
"Why on-- Oh!" Minerva exclaimed, blanching.  
  
Severus frowned, irritated with the delay. Why wouldn't-- His own thought processes caught up with Minerva's. _Bloody hell!_ "Why wasn't it aborted early on?" he hissed quietly, angrier than he'd ever expected to be on Miss Granger's behalf.  
  
"I'm merely a hedge-witch. I do not have the ability to brew the potion required for that, and the only spells that might accomplish the same thing, wreck almost as much damage on the mother's body as it does to the embryo. What would have had me done, Sir, torture the girl?"  
  
"Of course not!" he snapped. Stepping forward he swept the unconscious student up into his arms and strode toward Madam Pomfrey.   
  
Mrs. Annetti stuck close to his side.  
  
_Joy,_ he thought sourly.  
  
"You must also remember," the woman reminded him quietly, "she has no memory of what happened to her. Was I supposed to inform a critically wounded patient that not only was she was pregnant, but that a brutal rape was what made her that way?"  
  
Put that way, he had to admit the woman, confound her, was right. Even he knew that amnesia victims were supposed to recover their memories in their own time and at their own pace. Forcing the return of the memories most often led to disaster.  
  
As he lay Miss Granger on a hospital bed, he mentally tallied up the time that had passed. She was a touch over 3 1/2 months along. He shook his head. He didn't know if he believed it would be better if Miss Granger didn't recover her memories soon or not. Not, certainly meant having an easier time accepting the pregnancy. Recovering them meant either a very difficult abortion or a very traumatic pregnancy.  
  
Neither were good choices, he thought as Madam Pomfrey hustled forward.  
  
"Oh my!" the medi-witch exclaimed upon seeing her patient.  
  
First, quickly outlining the problem to Poppy, Severus stepped aside to allow the medi-witch to tend Miss Granger.  
  
"Mrs. Annetti, the woman who has been caring for Miss Granger will be better able to give you any information you need," Severus said with a brief nod, heading out of the hospital without further adeu. Nothing against Poppy, but he _really_ didn't like being in the hospital wing. He had spent far too much time there over the years.  
  
Minerva stopped him as soon as he stepped outside its confines.  
  
"What, Minerva?" he asked tiredly. It had already been a long day, and the day itself was less than half over.  
  
"Mr. Malfoy didn't take Miss Granger's reaction at all well. You may need to speak with him." Minerva paused, looking more hesitant than he'd ever seen her.  
  
"Spit it out, Minerva," he said shortly. "Whatever it is, isn't going to go away if you delay long enough."  
  
"Mr. Malfoy is a very intelligent young man. He's connected the clues and, I think, made certain . . . assumptions as to why she might have reacted that way to the sight of him."  
  
"Merlin's ghost!" Severus exclaimed, then sighed in defeat. "Very well. Do you know where he is?"  
  
  
TBC  
Kiristeen  
Feedback; craved and definitely inspirational. : )  
Kiristeen@kiristeen.com  
  
  
.  



	11. Chapter Ten

**********  
Chapter Ten  
**********  
  
  
Ron stared at the suddenly empty main hall, blinked. _Hermione's alive!_ He grinned, frowning immediately after. What the hell was she screaming about? "Come on, Draco. I'm going to find out if she's going to be okay."  
  
When he got no response, Ron turned and gasped. Draco was just standing there, way too pale, and shaking so hard Ron could see it. Now torn between checking on Hermione and the immediately problem in front of him -- neither of which he understood in the slightest -- he stepped closer to Draco, laying a hand on the blond's shoulder.  
  
Draco jumped, then swallowed so hard Ron swore he looked like he was trying to swallow his adam's apple. "Why?"  
  
Ron frowned. _Why what?_ "I don't know why she screamed like that, mate," he replied, glancing the direction everyone had disappeared. "I guess--"  
  
"No!" Draco shouted, jerking away. "Why does he ruin _everything_?"  
  
Okay, he admitted it. He didn't know what on earth Draco was talking about. He _really_ wished there was a professor around. "Who, Draco?"  
  
"My _father_!" Draco spat.  
  
Opening his mouth to reply, Ron shut it again without saying anything. _Huh?_ "Draco, I hate to break it to you, but your father can't ruin anything," he said finally, really not sure what else to say.  
  
Draco didn't respond, moving away so fast he was almost running.   
  
"Draco! Where are you going?"  
  
"Out!" Draco snapped without breaking stride. "I'm not discussing this where anyone can overhear."  
  
_Where are all the bloody professors?_ Ron wondered frantically. At this point, he'd even be thankful to see Professor Snape. "Wait up," he shouted, darting after Draco. Just as they reached the front door, Ron thought he saw movement out of the corner of his eye, but when he jerked his head around there was no one there.  
  
Draco didn't wait for him, but didn't object to his presence when he caught up.  
  
Ron didn't say anything, he just fell into step beside his confusing friend. They hadn't been friends long, and Ron didn't have any known words of comfort. He hoped his quiet presence would be enough to help. It had been for Hermione when she was upset, and despite his joke earlier, he'd discovered over the last few months that Draco had more in common with Hermione than he'd probably ever be willing to admit.  
  
As soon as they were outside, Draco's urgent stride slowed to a normal walk, and Ron was grateful. He hadn't been looking forward to racing all over Hogwarts' grounds. They didn't talk, just walked, stopping every once in a while as Draco seemed to scan the horizon. Ron was pretty sure he was looking to make sure no one else was around; though, Ron wouldn't have wanted to swear to it.  
  
Just when he was beginning to think he'd taken the wrong track with Draco, the blond spoke suddenly, the subject wasn't what he expected however. In fact he didn't see how it applied.  
  
"Everything is so different now," Draco offered quietly, folding himself to sit on the ground facing the lake.  
  
"Yeah, it is, Draco," Ron replied, not sure what else to say. He wasn't exactly a counselor. Quite the opposite, he was the one who always ended up with his foot in his mouth, invariably saying the one thing to make everything worse. He was scared he was going to do it now, too. He was so worried about Hermione, and on top of that worried about Harry, who'd been so withdrawn for the last two weeks, and now, Draco was acting strangely.  
  
"After _it_ first happened, everyone was so quiet, so careful. No one dared say the least thing wrong, and when anyone laughed, they felt bad about being able to."  
  
Ron nodded in understanding. "Yeah. It's like there was this feeling of how can we laugh when things are so bad." _What's that got to do with what's bothering you?_ he added silently, frustrated. He felt the incredible urge to just ask outright what the problem was, but didn't dare. Draco could still be so . . . prickly sometimes. If he asked, and it was the wrong thing to do, or if asked in the wrong way, Draco would never open up to him, he'd just bury it all inside.  
  
"Now, things are finally starting to settle. Even the little kids are starting to act like kids again." Draco smiled a tiny rueful smile. "And no, I never thought I'd be worried about things like that."  
  
Ron sighed. This was as bad as the day they'd talked about Crabbe and Goyle. He'd been just as lost then, just as unable to understand what was really wrong. He had the sneaking suspicion that he'd stay just as lost this time in finding out what the _real_ problem was.   
  
He tentatively reached out and grasped Draco shoulder, giving as much comfort as he thought the blond would allow.  
  
Shuddering, Draco let out a sound of disgust. "I feel so bloody . . . _guilty_, and I don't like it!" he snapped. He jerked his head around to glare at Ron. "How do you make it stop?" he demanded.  
  
Ron's eyes widened. "You've never felt guilty before?" he asked, not able to keep all the shock he felt out of his question.  
  
Wincing, Draco shook his head. "Not until recently."  
  
Ron hesitated, knowing that somehow, now, they were finally getting to the root of what was bothering Draco, and _knew_ he was going to mess this up somehow. He shrugged helplessly. He'd felt guilty about so many different things and gotten over it, but he had no clue about _how_ he had. He just had. "It might help," he suggested hesitantly, "if I knew what you're feeling guilty _about_. I mean, seems to me, you haven't done anything . . . recently . . . to feel that way."  
  
"I'm worried."  
  
_Okay, that helped muddy the waters. Let's try for some clearing._ "There's a lot to be worried about," he offered quietly. _Could I get any more lame?_  
  
Draco shot to his feet, hissing in annoyance. "I'm worried about _me_!" he shouted, disgust clear in his voice. "People are dead. Others mutilated. Others gone completely round the bend. And . I'm . Worried . About . Me!" Draco dropped back to the ground, refusing to look at Ron. "I'm supposed to worry about me. It's what I was brought up to do. It's the smart thing to do. But right now, I hate it. Compared to a lot of people, I've got it great. Even if--"  
  
_Oh!_ "Even if?" Ron prodded, clenching his entire body tightly to prevent himself from pushing too hard.   
  
Dropping his head onto his knees, Draco muttered beneath his breath. "Even if I do lose mmff."  
  
"Lose what, Draco?" Ron asked scooting forward. "What are you afraid of losing?"  
  
"You know, I've never really had a friend before," Draco said suddenly, sitting all the way back up. He still didn't look at Ron, though.  
  
_Oh. Ouch. OH! Wow._ "Not to make all sorts of assumptions here, Draco, but, umm, just in case, I'm a pretty hard friend to shake."  
  
"I think my father's the one who hurt Hermione," Draco said flatly, almost daring Ron to make something of it.  
  
"What?!" Ron shouted angrily, jumping to his feet.  
  
Draco flinched and closed his eyes.  
  
_I'm such a prat!_ Ron thought instantly. He wanted nothing more than to rant and scream and shout and just plain stomp his feet in rage. He slumped, and found himself on the ground without making a conscious decision to sit down. "Because of the way she screamed when she looked at you," he said flatly, his volume _very_ carefully controlled. He knew his temper. He'd better; it had certainly gotten him into enough fixes. If he didn't work very hard at it, he went kinda berserk sometimes, acting without thinking at all.  
  
Part of him wanted that right now. It wanted him to launch himself at Draco, the living representation of all that had hurt Hermione. Yes, he believed Draco was right. It made sense. He didn't know how he did it, but he managed _not_ to lash out.  
  
Draco nodded. "He was there that night, you know."  
  
Ron stayed silent, clamping iron control on his anger.  
  
"From what I could piece together, Professor Snape is the one who killed him."  
  
Ron moaned, and was startled to find Draco suddenly looking his direction, slate grey eyes boring into his, a sad question lurking in their shadows.  
  
"How can you stand being around him?" Ron asked in a hushed whisper.  
  
"What do you care?" Draco demanded harshly. "You hated him."  
  
"Yes, I did, Draco," Ron admitted, "but I care about you."  
  
Draco's expression turned incredulous.  
  
"Look, you're right," Ron retorted defensively, just as if Draco had called him a liar. "I didn't like him, enough said on that. For all I know he was the best dad imaginable."  
  
Draco coughed, or maybe it was snorted, Ron didn't know for sure. All he did know, was that whatever it was, it sounded like a very clear 'not in this universe' to him.  
  
"Or maybe the worst ever," Ron went on, hurriedly rushing to his next point before Draco could take exception, "Or maybe he was like most dads, good at some things, bad at some, and a complete embarrassment in other things."  
  
Draco chuckled, and Ron wilted in relief. Finally, he'd said something right.  
  
"What I do know, is that he was your father. He was family. And that's gotta hurt once everything's said and done. And _that's_ why I care."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Hurts?"  
  
Draco nodded, eyes surprisingly filling with tears.  
  
_Oh Merlin! What do I do now?_  
  
The tears silently spilled down his cheeks and Draco angrily wiped them away.  
  
Ron, terribly sure he was doing the wrong thing, reached out and roughly pulled Draco into a hug. It's what he would have wanted, and he dearly hoped Draco would too. Draco stiffened immediately, but Ron didn't release the blond. He would have protested at first too. It was a guy thing.  
  
He was about to let go when Draco suddenly quit pushing against him, every muscle in his body seemingly relaxing at once. It was followed seconds later by shaking sobs, muffled as Draco buried his head in Ron's shoulder.  
  
Before he realized what he was doing, Ron was rocking back and forth slowly, murmuring soft nonsense, and just letting Draco get it all out. By Merlin, though, he wanted to make Draco laugh instead of cry. He wasn't sure he could handle this. He wanted to make some stupid, inane quip and just make the pain go away.  
  
"I hated him!" Draco said, not moving from his position.  
  
"It's okay," Ron replied, hoping he was right. It was followed by a very long silence, broken only by the normal daytime sounds, and Draco's quiet weeping.   
  
"I miss him."  
  
_Oh, Merlin! I'm *so* out of my depth here!_ He wanted to jerk away and ask Draco how he could possibly miss him. He didn't -- but he didn't know how he managed it.  
  
"I know," he replied instead.  
  
"He was a first-class bastard, and I miss him."  
  
"Of course you do," was the only answer Ron could come up with. A bloke missing his father was as natural as breathing, or so it seemed to him. Ron couldn't even begin to imagine how torn up he'd be if it had been _his_ dad that had died. It would seem like nothing would every be right again. It was bad enough that-- He cut off that train of thought immediately. If he didn't, neither one of them would be coherent.  
  
In time, Draco quieted, and their rocking slowed to a stop, the hand Ron had been absently rubbing soothingly across Draco's back stopped moving even as Ron realized he'd been doing it.   
  
Draco shrugged out of his hold uncomfortably, his flushed cheeks tracked with tearstains. "Sorry 'bout that," he mumbled, looking away.  
  
"S'okay," Ron replied dismissively, "what else are friends for?"  
  
Draco looked back at him then, wearing an expression Ron couldn't decipher. After a long moment Ron's heart skipped a beat in his chest. There was something . . . compelling about the way Draco was sitting, looking at him. His mouth not completely closed, the way he tilted his head, it all seemed . . . familiar somehow. It almost looked like-- Before he realized he was doing it, Ron leaned forward.  
  
_Oh bloody hell, Ronald Weasley, what do you think you're doing?! He's going to kill you! He's going to chop you up into tiny little pieces and leave you in Snape's lab to be used in potions._  
  
Staring at Draco's suddenly irresistible mouth, Ron didn't miss the pink tongue tip that darted out to moisten lips, and he desperately wanted to capture it with his own mouth. Then, his mouth brushed across Draco's, the blond's lips pliant and responsive beneath his. He moaned, low in his throat, Draco's active participation sending a jolt of arousal shooting through him. He'd expected death and was getting a piece of heaven instead.  
  
Shaking, he pulled back, his eyes darting immediately up to Draco's. "Oh my!" he whispered even as Draco raised a trembling hand to his own mouth as if to make sure it had really happened.  
  
The overly loud _crack_ of a dried branch snapping, had both of them jerking their heads around at the sound. They scrambled hastily to their feet as they located the source.  
  
Ron blushed fiercely. "Professor Snape!" he squeaked, thankful to hear Draco's surprised greeting hadn't sounded any less shaken than his. He and Draco were out in the open. The Professor _had_ to have seen what just happened, and Ron was now absolutely positive it was possible to die of embarrassment. He didn't dare look over at Draco to see how he was reacting.  
  
"Mr. Weasley," Professor Snape replied drily, his mouth twisted into a knowing smirk that did nothing but heighten Ron's mortification at having been caught. "Mr. Malfoy."  
  
**Please ground, open and swallow me right now!** Ron begged silently.  
  
"Leave, Mr. Weasley," Professor Snape said sternly, not even looking in his direction.  
  
Ron hesitated, casting a helpless, apologetic glance to Draco, and wilted in relief when he saw understanding in the pale face. "Later, Draco," he said quickly, darting out of the danger range as fast he could.  
  
  
TBC  
Kiristeen  
Feedback; it does a writer good. : )~  
Kiristeen@kiristeen.com  
  
.  



	12. Chapter Eleven

My apologies for the delays in posting. I'll be posting another section tonight and one tomorrow to make up for it -- hopefully. : ) Enjoy.   
  
  
  
  
**********  
Chapter Eleven  
**********  
  
  
Severus stared down at Draco Malfoy, almost wanting to cleanse his own eyes with muggle bleach. What he'd seen, he could have lived his entire life without seeing. He smirked, though, as a renewed blush stole across Malfoy's checks. It really did stand out against his nearly white hair and pale skin. The boy shifted uncomfortably, not meeting his gaze for one of the first times ever.  
  
He sighed. "I understand you had some . . . concerns about Miss Granger's return," he began, after making sure that Weasley was far enough away he couldn't hear the exchange. This really wasn't his specialty; though it wasn't the first time he'd played the role of counselor for the Slytherins in his charge. It simply wasn't his favorite, nor his most comfortable role. Being 'polite' enough to be of any use was . . . difficult for him.  
  
Draco's head snapped up, his eyes suddenly flaring with raw emotion.  
  
**Yes, boy,** Severus thought, **that's better than gazing at the ground like a shy 1st year.**  
  
"You could say that," Draco replied tightly, his voice denying the storm of emotion flickering through his eyes and across his face.  
  
"Perhaps you would care to tell me why it concerns you so?" Severus pressed, wondering just what the key was to opening the floodgates in this instance.  
  
**Did he tell Weasley?**  
  
"Did you, perhaps, have a hand in what happened to her?" he asked with deceptive nonchalance.   
  
"NO!" Malfoy shouted, then cleared his throat in embarrassment at his outburst. "No," he repeated more quietly. "I didn't."  
  
"Someone *inside* Hogwarts had to have placed the port key that ensnared Miss Granger."  
  
Malfoy ground his teeth.  
  
"Did you have knowledge that it was going to happen?"  
  
"No!"  
  
"Well, then," Severus concluded, hoping to goad the young man, "it seems to me, her current condition should be nothing to you."  
  
**Prove me wrong, boy.**  
  
Malfoy gaped at him. "How can you say that?" he hissed.  
  
"Quite easily, I assure you," Severus replied drily. **Thank Merlin for the ability to lie through my teeth.**  
  
"It would be obvious to a blind 1st year!" Malfoy shouted.  
  
"Indeed, if that's so, then *explain* it to me."  
  
Malfoy looked away, not speaking.  
  
"You do realize, your silence is circumstantially condemning?"  
  
"Why would *Granger* scream the moment she saw me?" Malfoy spat at him angrily, attempting to turn the tables.  
  
Severus hid his smirk. "I can think of several good reasons," he replied immediately, knowing his non-answer would infuriate the boy. "Why do *you* think she did," he continued, smoothly blocking Malfoy's attempt. **Come on, boy; spit it out! Stop making me act like an Albus wanna-be.**  
  
"I *think* my *father*," he retorted, his teeth clenched tightly together, the word father spat out like the vilest of insults, "was the one to hurt her."  
  
"Ah," Severus replied, mentally kicking himself when he came out sounding even *more* like Albus. "And you think this is what? Somehow your fault?"  
  
"Of course not!"  
  
This time Severus waited instead of pushing. He didn't have to wait long.  
  
"When I first came to Hogwarts, I was *so* sure my father was a *god*. He knew absolutely everything. He couldn't possibly be wrong about anything. I took everything he taught me to heart. I *believed* it. Muggleborns were the downfall of the wizarding world. Purebloods had to fight back or end up destroyed. I lived that. Everything I did, everything I said, everything I wanted, revolved around that simple 'truth'. He was above all the bad things I'd heard whispered in the dark about death-eaters. He had a goal. He wasn't some low-life scum that would--"  
  
Itching to comment, Severus forced himself to remain silent.  
  
"You know don't you that for most of my life I fully intended to follow the Dark Lord? *Be* a true Malfoy; follow in my father's footsteps, the whole nine yards."  
  
Severus nodded, remaining silent. Now that Malfoy's words were flowing, he didn't want to take any chance he'd stop them by saying the wrong thing, by being too condescending, sounding too judgemental.   
  
"The worst part of all this," Malfoy continued, his voice dropping to a whisper so quiet, Severus had to strain to hear it. "The fact that he was *there* that day, it means he *knew*. He *knew* what was going to happen here at Hogwarts. He didn't tell me, *warn* me."  
  
A shard of pain shot through Severus. This specific hurt was one he wished he could take away from this boy who'd already been through so much. To know a parent cared so little as to be able to 'throw you away', was a pain like no other. He knew *that* from personal experience.   
  
"It is possible that Voldemort kept it from him," Severus began tentatively.  
  
Draco, however, threw him a disbelieving look and he couldn't continue with the 'comforting lie'.  
  
"Unfortunately, it's very doubtful. I'm . . . sorry."  
  
Draco shook off his rather pathetic attempt at sympathy, gaze firmly locked back on the ground. "Do you really want to know what made me change my mind?" he asked suddenly, changing the subject abruptly. "About following the Dark Lord, I mean."  
  
Severus hesitated. He wasn't sure he wanted to, but knew a negative answer just might close the boy off. He nodded. "If you wish to tell me."  
  
"I found out he was a half-blood." Draco snorted, shaking his head. "Not a very profound reason, is it?"  
  
"No, it isn't," Severus agreed. "Is that also why you defended the children, many of whom were muggleborn and mixed bloods?"  
  
"No," came the quiet reply. "It was more by then."  
  
"Mr. Malfoy . . . Draco, look at me." Using up most of his store of limited patience, Severus waited to continue until Draco's eyes met his, then chose his words carefully. "Whatever reason you chose that started you on this path is . . . irrelevant."  
  
Draco started to protest, but Severus held up a cautioning hand.  
  
"It is, Draco. The point is, you made a choice, and when push came to shove and you were boxed into a corner, you stuck with that decision, choosing to save lives rather than take them."  
  
"Well, sure, but--"  
  
"No buts, Draco," Severus said firmly allowing no room in his tone for dissention. What you've chosen isn't the easy road. You can take my word for that. But," Severus paused. Never an optimist, a 'positive' person, he wrestled with himself to give such advice to one who would have a long hard time ahead of him. Most of the people he'd been raised to respect would now look down on him. "It definitely has its rewards."  
  
Draco stared at him long and hard, and Severus fought to allow the blatantly assessing gaze. "So, you're telling me that it's worth it?"  
  
He smirked, and couldn't stop the snort. "It will *not* be some sentimental bed of bloody roses, I assure you," he warned, "but if I'm completely honest, then yes, it's worth it." Schooling his features into his more accustomed sneer, he rose gracefully. "If you tell anyone I admitted that, however, and you will discover what the Gryffindors have known all along, *Mr.* Malfoy."  
  
Severus continued smirking at the boy then, cocking an eyebrow, daring him to ask. It was an even proposition whether Draco would take him up on it. A Gryffindor, of course, couldn't have refused the challenge -- well, perhaps except Longbottom, who seemed to swallow his tongue as well as every tiny bit of dexterity he might have ordinarily possessed whenever he came within sighting distance of Severus. A Slytherin, like Draco, would first weight the consequences of what could be taken as impertinence.  
  
"And what would that be?" Draco asked warily, wisely sensing a trap, but evidently having decided the risk was worth the information.  
  
Severus snorted; either that, or he doubted the Gryffindors could possibly know anything he didn't. Leaning forward slightly, Severus hissed his words. "Just how vicious I can be in handing out detention chores," he said, enjoying the way Draco's eyes widened comically as he spun on one heel fully intending to stalk off and give the boy time to think about what had been said.  
  
"Professor Snape!"  
  
Glaring in the direction of the shout, Severus stopped and waited. It didn't take the out of breath apprentice long to reach them.  
  
"Madam *pant* Pomfrey *gasp* needs a *gulp* special--"  
  
Now irritated in earnest, Severus raised a hand to silence the idiotic child. "Catch your breath *before* you speak," he scolded scathingly, wondering why Madam Pomfrey, an otherwise competent medi-witch, always seemed to choose the worst sort of simpering idiots as apprentices. Unfortunately, it seemed that Miss Wolffe was not to be the exception. "You are incomprehensible and sound absolutely inane, otherwise."  
  
Nodding, Miss Wolffe took the time to gulp in lungfuls of air before trying again. "Madam Pomfrey says Miss Granger needs a special calming potion because of the baby."  
  
A horrified gasp sounded behind him even as rage shot through Severus. "Be thankful I can no longer assign detention nor remove house points from you Miss Wolffe, or Hufflepuff would be in the negative, and you would be spending the next *year* shoveling dung for Professor Hagrid!" he snapped, his expression hardening unforgiveably. "You can also be assured," he continued, drawling disdainfully, "Madam Pomfrey will hear of your heinous breach of patient confidentiality!"  
  
"Come with me, Mr. Malfoy," he snapped, leaving the startled apprentice gaping after them. **Merlin's ghost and Circe on a crutch!** Severus sputtered silently. This was all he needed now.  
  
Draco caught up with him, grabbing his arm. "Tell me it was someone else! Tell me she's *wrong*. Tell me what *I'm* thinking is wrong!"  
  
Closing his eyes briefly, Severus shook his head. "I cannot." Too much evidence had been discovered. It wasn't just Potter's nightmares; they had merely set things in motion. When questioned under veritaserum, two separate surviving death-eaters had confirmed Malfoy's actions *and* the timing of the order's attack.  
  
"Oh, **Merlin,**" Draco gasped, going decidedly green.  
  
Severus grabbed hold of the boy's arm as Draco gagged, his body jerking. "Don't fall apart now, Mr. Malfoy," he snapped, dragging Draco forward. "I have to make that potion. You can heave to your heart's content once we reach my lab."  
  
**Thank Circe, there are facilities attached!** He really didn't have time for this if Madam Pomfrey wanted the likes of a calming potion -- considering Miss Granger's full circumstances -- but he couldn't just leave the boy here.  
  
The potion would take almost an hour to make without the delays Miss Wolffe's criminal insensitivity had caused. Livid, didn't begin to describe what he was feeling toward that girl.  
  
//She couldn't have known *who* the baby's father was.//  
  
Severus snarled to himself, startling the pale boy in his grasp.   
  
"I'm sorry, Professor," Draco muttered.  
  
"Do not concern yourself, Mr. Malfoy," Severus replied firmly, not once slowing his pace.  
  
  
TBC  
Kiristeen  
Feedback: Inspirational and Craved. : )  
Kiristeen@kiristeen.com  
  
  



	13. Chapter Twelve

Please remember, this story deals with horrific events and as such may be uncomfortable or distasteful to some.  
  
  
**********  
Chapter Twelve  
**********  
  
  
Draco sagged as Professor Snape manhandled him onto a stool. Cold fingers circled the back of his neck, and he suddenly found himself being pushed forward until his head was between his knees.   
  
**Oh! That helps.**  
  
His mind wouldn't stop, though. He couldn't push out the unwanted thoughts, the vile images that would flash through his brain as disgustingly vivid portraits. The one thing that wouldn't quit, that kept recycling over and over, bothered him the most.  
  
**Why is Professor Snape so sure? How can I *believe* it?**  
  
"Stay put," Professor Snape snapped. "If you feel the need to heave, however, at least *attempt* to make it through the door opposite the entrance."  
  
Draco mumbled a, 'yes, Sir,' which came out garbled but sounding vaguely affirmative, and heard the professor move away, to gather potion ingredients -- Draco assumed.  
  
He didn't move. It was all too much. He couldn't sort through any of it, one thing after another coming without any time to process in between, jumbled it all in his mind. He wished he could just shut off his brain for a while, then maybe he could get his stomach to quit trying to twist itself outside his body.  
  
He tried to think rationally, allowing the regular sounds of Professor Snape's movements about the room soothe him. There wasn't any proof, he reasoned. This was all assumptions. The fact that she'd screamed as soon as she saw him only *hinted* that his father had *been* there, nothing else. There could have been any number of reasons she'd reacted badly.  
  
//Taking up lying to yourself now?//  
  
Slowly raising his head, Draco stared at Professor Snape, confusion giving way to anger. He wished he dared scream and shout and demand answers. The desire grew inside him as the professor continued about his work, seemingly completely at ease, totally ignoring him.  
  
"You're sure, aren't you!" he shouted, suddenly desperate to hear the professor deny it.  
  
**Please say no!**  
  
"Yes."  
  
Draco seethed. The bastard hadn't even looked up from his preparations as he'd crushed Draco's hopes. **How long have you known?**  
  
"Is that why you killed him?" Draco pushed, wanting, needing confirmation, a reaction, *anything* from Snape that wasn't the absolute calm the man was projecting. He needed to know that someone besides him was feeling out of control, that it wasn't just *his* world falling apart.  
  
Professor Snape's head snapped up, his eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched so tightly the muscles along the jawline twitched.  
  
**Looks like I got my reaction!** Draco thought uneasily, wondering if maybe he shouldn't have pushed so hard.  
  
"No, Mr. Malfoy," Snape replied tightly, immediately returning his attention to his work. "It was not."  
  
**Look at me, you son-of-a-bitch!**  
  
"At the time, I was not even aware that Miss Granger was still alive."  
  
**How do you know he did anything to her at all, then!?** Draco screamed silently, but didn't ask. "Then why *did* you?" he asked instead. "Why didn't--"  
  
Professor Snape rounded on him then, startling him. Draco stumbled back in surprise -- a not a little fear -- not sure if he hadn't just crossed a very important line in his driving need to simply *know*.  
  
"Mr. Malfoy, I do not have time for this nonsense right now."  
  
**It's not nonsense!**  
  
"If you want to know the whys and wherefors of every single blasted death I was witness to in this accursed war, I will be *happy* to pull out my entire supply of firewhiskey, force feed it to you, and discuss it with you until you pass out from alcohol poisoning -- *later*. Until then, I suggest you quit wasting my time and cut to the chase. Ask what you really want to know and be done with it!"  
  
Draco clenched his fists at his sides, white hot rage surging through him. "Why are you so bloody sure it was him, then, damn it!? You weren't there!" he shouted, his voice dropping to a hoarse whisper as he continued. "Why am *I* so certain?"  
  
"Draco," Professor Snape said, his voice firm, certain, but for a change it was not unkind. "I do not have time to try and be comforting. If I answer the questions you ask, you will not like the answers. Before you ask again, I suggest you consider that well."  
  
Draco stood defiantly, waiting, watching as the professor's hands never stopped their work. **Well if that didn't just already answer anyway!** he thought sourly. Unfortunately, that didn't stop his insane urge to make sure. Hints weren't enough. If he didn't hear the words, he would never be sure. He'd never *know* for sure that he wasn't believing totally vile slander.  
  
"I have to know," he whispered, inching forward until he stood across the work bench from the potions master.  
  
Without so much as a nanosecond of hesitation, Professor Snape began to speak, his voice flat, monotone. "I have ample evidence to believe your father raped--"  
  
Draco cringed, his stomach rebelling yet again.  
  
"Miss Granger. I--"  
  
"Did she tell you that?"  
  
"If you interrupt me, Mr. Malfoy, I will cease giving you the information you *say* you want. Understood?"  
  
Draco nodded reluctantly.  
  
"No, she did not. At the time of our meeting, she recalled absolutely nothing about her life."  
  
"Amnesia," Draco breathed, not really intending to interrupt, but unable to keep the word inside. The very idea was . . . repellent, like a memory charm gone bad.  
  
Professor Snape glared at him, briefly glancing up from the final stages of brewing. "Yes. And no, before you ask, I will not reveal my source. It is accurate. It has been confirmed by two other separate sources. Leave it at that."  
  
Reluctantly, Draco nodded again.  
  
"The evidence I witnessed also suggests that the Order's attack took place *immediately* after, allowing Miss Granger to escape further injury during the confusion. And that, Mr. Malfoy, is the bald truth. You wanted it. You got it. Now, you must live with it."  
  
**What evidence?** Draco thought, his mind whirling. Had someone been there, watching? Several someones? A sudden image flashed through his mind, a whole circle of death-eaters cheering like a bunch of school boys cheering on a schoolyard fight. Bile rose in his throat, and he swallowed convulsively. **I will *not* be sick!**  
  
For long moments, Draco worked through his thoughts, desperate to reconcile what he used to know with what he now knew. He kept coming back around to one vital piece of information. It stuck in his craw and made it all seem so much more hideous than it already was. Granger was *his* age. How could his father--  
  
Swallowing again, Draco forced his focus outward. Desperate to quiet his unwanted thoughts, he watched, focusing all his attention on Professor Snape as he put out the flame and carefully decanted the potion into a waiting vial. Draco continued watching, waiting, until the potion was safely stoppered, then spoke. This time, he kept his voice quiet and calm, afraid too much of anything and he would once again be lost. It was a frightening feeling, like he was holding onto the ledge of a cliff with just his fingertips to keep him from falling into an abyss.  
  
"Were you going to tell me?" he asked as Professor Snape began to move away.  
  
Ahead of him, the professor's shoulders slumped as he let out a deep sigh. "It wasn't my place, Draco. Who knows what, is Miss Granger's decision. Other than some of the staff, and that deeply stupid apprentice, you are the only one to know. If--"  
  
"Weasley knows I think it was my father that hurt her," Draco said quickly, ignoring the glare he received for interrupting. "We . . . talked."  
  
"Draco, I'm glad you have someone to talk to, but this is *not* something you can share with him."  
  
"Professor, *please*. I'm not slow. But, despite all appearances, neither is Weasley, as soon as it's obvious, he'll figure it out anyway."  
  
Where this sudden calm was coming from, Draco didn't know, but he was thankful for it. Being so out of control was anathema to him. He wasn't naive enough to believe he was finished with his little flirtations with insanity, however. He just hoped he could have a little more privacy for the next one. Two in one day *with* witnesses was more than enough for him.  
  
"Professor?" he asked trailing beside the older man.  
  
"What?!" Professor Snape snarled.  
  
"Do you think she'll abort it?"  
  
**I sure as hell would!**  
  
"That, Mr. Malfoy, is none of your concern, and where I draw the line," Professor Snape said with a quelling glare. "What *ever* gave you the idea that I would be willing to speculate with you about the actions of one of your fellow students?"  
  
**Not my concern!?** Draco thought rebelliously. **As little as anyone may like the idea -- myself included -- that *baby* is my--   
  
The hallway spun around him, flashing to almost pitch black. Panic shooting through him, Draco heard a faint, "oh, hell!" as the world went away.  
  
TBC  
Kiristeen  
Feedback: the source of inspiration and very muchly craved. : )  
Kiristeen@kiristeen.com  
  
  



	14. Chapter Thirteen

**********  
Chapter Thirteen  
**********  
  
  
Poppy let out a surprised, 'oh!' as soon as she lay eyes on him. Severus frowned and awkwardly thrust the calming potion into her hand. "Shock," he explained abruptly as he unceremoniously dumped Mr. Malfoy onto one of the infirmary beds, taking just enough time to throw a blanket over the boy. Even so, by the time he was finished, Poppy had already disappeared.  
  
His nearly perpetual frown deepened as he realized it would be up to him to deal with Malfoy since it was obvious Poppy had her hands full. He certainly wasn't going to leave the boy in the hands of that utterly incompetent apprentice -- even if Draco wasn't in any real danger. The boy just might be if she got her hands on him. If his memory served, the chit's grade in potions had been average at best.  
  
He crossed to the warded potions' cabinet Poppy kept stocked, intending to get Malfoy a calming potion of his own before he woke him up, when an animalistic screech sent him flying toward the back of the infirmary.   
  
"YOU CAN'T MAKE ME!"  
  
He skid to a halt just inside the one room Hogwart's Hospital boasted for privacy.   
  
A disheveled Poppy was standing three feet away from a rather distraught Miss Granger, the latter curled into a rocking ball, mumbling incomprehensibly into her knees.  
  
Poppy looked over at him, her expression torn. "She won't let anyone near her," she explained. "She goes into hysterics the moment *anyone* comes within touching range. Well, I'm sure you heard her."  
  
He nodded. Unfortunately, someone needed to get close enough to actually _give_ her the calming potion. He was sure his presence would certainly _not_ be calming in anyway, but his strength would certainly hold her in place while they got the blasted potion down her.  
  
"I'll help," he offered with a deep sigh.   
  
Even as Poppy was reluctantly agreeing, Miss Granger's head shot up from her knees and her eyes locked on his. "Professor Snape!"   
  
To his utter shock, she launched herself from her corner directly toward him. He only had time to brace himself and to _think_ about reaching for his wand before he found himself with both arms full of an hysterical Hermione Granger.  
  
"I didn't tell them anything, Professor!" she sobbed, burying her head in his chest. "I didn't!"  
  
Completely speechless, Severus blinked up at Poppy helplessly. He wasn't the kind of person traumatised people clung to for comfort. He snorted at the medi-witch when she did nothing more than shove a single dose of the specialized calming potion into his hand.  
  
"Miss Granger," he said softly, surprising himself. He didn't even realize his voice could _get_ that soft and . . . pleasant.   
  
"I swear Professor, I didn't tell them anything. They," she hiccuped against him, "did things."  
  
He winced. He was all too aware of the 'things' they'd done -- Lucius had done. He sighed and placed a gentle hand on her head.  
  
He didn't know what sparked it, but Miss Granger suddenly jumped back, horror scribed all over her expression. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't mean--"  
  
"Enough, Miss Granger!" he barked, wincing even as he shouted. Surprisingly enough -- despite Poppy's and Mrs. Annetti's disapproving glares, Miss Granger obeyed instantly. She stood silently in front of him, trembling wildly, but silent. "Take this," he continued firmly, stepping forward just enough to hand her the dose he held.  
  
She whimpered, but reached out and took the dose cup from him. Unfortunately, all she did with it was threaten to spill it when her hand continued to shake -- that and stare at it.  
  
"Drink it," he snapped.  
  
She jumped, but quickly raised it to her mouth, swallowing the entire dose at once.  
  
He noted the instant it began taking effect -- as did both the women in the room. Granger's shaking decreased considerably and her defensive posture relaxed -- some.  
  
"Oh, God," she breathed.  
  
Poppy immediately moved forward and helped her back to the bed, easing her down on it. After making sure the girl was as all right as she could be, she left her in the care of Mrs. Annetti and crossed back to him.   
  
They both watched Mrs. Annetti fuss over Miss Granger for several moments before tuning out their muted conversation. "Do you have any idea why the child would fly to you like that?" Poppy asked quietly, her tone a bit . . . off. "Although not unheard of, it's certainly not usual for someone who's been through what she has to run to a male for comfort or protection."  
  
To Severus she seemed rather suspicious, and he didn't like what thoughts it implied. "I have absolutely no clue, _Madam_," he replied icily, then frowned over at the student in question. "I admit, however, that her actions are quite curious."  
  
"It's alright, child," Mrs. Annetti said, her words carrying easily to him and Poppy, something in their tone catching his attention. "You were quite upset. I admit I don't understand quite why you reacted that way. . . ." she continued, letting her words trail off suggestively.  
  
"Until I saw Professor Snape," Granger told the woman, her head down, "I wasn't sure any of this was real. It seemed too much like what I'd hoped for."  
  
"Really?" Severus felt compelled to question.  
  
Granger immediately flinched at his voice, but looked up at him, her expression curiously blank. "Yes," she said. "I . . . I thought it was all a trick to trip me up."  
  
Severus acknowledged her reasoning. He might have felt the same in her place. Merlin knew, he'd been suspicious enough in the past when he'd awoke to find himself in the infirmary instead of where he'd last been conscious. "What about my appearance in the room made you change your mind?" he asked. Genuinely curious, he made sure his voice was as soothing as he could make it. His eyebrow shot up in surprise as Miss Granger blushed and ducked her head before replying.  
  
Casting a glance at Poppy, she shrugged, indicating she hadn't understood the girl's response either.  
  
"Come again?" he asked.  
  
"I _said_," she retorted, the tiniest spark of anger in her voice, her chin now lifted defiantly, "I wouldn't have wished for your presence, so I knew it had to be real, that I really was safe."  
  
Beside him, Poppy's lips twitched and Severus knew the medi-witch was doing her best to fight off a good laugh at his expense. Before he could react to her, Miss Wolffe entered, carrying a tray of food. Eyes narrowed, he took the tray from her. "Get out," he ordered flatly.  
  
Miss Wolffe, eeped, her face turning red and she all but ran from the room.  
  
"Now, see here, Severus," Poppy objected angrily. "That is _my_ apprentice and--"  
  
"Who flagrantly violated patient confidentiality, to the possible detriment of two people," he interrupted, handing the tray to Mrs. Annetti. "I will speak with you outside, Madam Pomfrey," he continued, sweeping out of the room without giving Poppy time to respond. He scowled angrily at Miss Wolffe while he waited for the medi-witch to follow, who inched away, refusing to look at him. Thankfully Severus didn't have to wait long. He wasn't sure he could resist verbally flaying the chit if he'd had to wait very long.  
  
"I hope you're planning on explaining that accusation!" she said sternly, arms folded across her chest.  
  
"Miss Wolffe here, negligently revealed Miss Granger's current . . . condition to, of all people, Draco Malfoy."  
  
Poppy gasped, rounding on the hapless apprentice with visible anger. "Miss Wolffe, this will _not_ look well on your record. Your duty to a patient's privacy is second only to your duty to their health. As I do not have time to deal with you at the moment, however, I will have to do so later. Return to your chambers and report for detention this evening at 7."  
  
"Yes, Madam Pomfrey," Wolffe replied tearfully, hurrying from the room.  
  
Not fast enough, in Severus' opinion, as she didn't make it out of hearing range before bursting into rather noisy weeping.   
  
With one last glare, Poppy was all business and she soon had all the information Severus did about the rather convoluted problems they now had facing them -- including Malfoy's knowledge of who Miss Granger's attacker was. Tutting worriedly, the medi-witch checked on Malfoy, making sure the boy was resting. Having done so, she sighed heavily, turning back to face Severus.  
  
"For as long as Miss Granger remains in the infirmary, we'll have no trouble keeping them separate. After that, however. . . ."  
  
"After that," Severus said firmly, "they will both have to behave like near-adults and deal with it. We cannot, after all, turn an entire school upside down for two people."  
  
Poppy's rather effective glare was interrupted by the arrival of two more students.   
  
Severus frowned at both Weasley and Potter, who shifted nervously under his glare.  
  
"Madam Pomfrey?" Weasley asked quietly, "Can we see Hermione?"  
  
"Certainly not!" Severus snapped instantly.  
  
"I'll ask her, Mr. Weasley," Poppy inserted smoothly, utterly ignoring Severus, other than to serve him with yet another glare. "Even if she says yes, it will have to be a _very_ short visit."  
  
"Why?" Weasley asked. "What's wrong with her."  
  
Growling, Severus swept past the nosy brats, wanting nothing more to do with the situation. The last thing Miss Granger needed was a hounding visit from two nosy Gryffindors, but far be it for anyone to listen to _his_ common sense. If Potter wasn't so self centered, he'd realize just why their visit was so inappropriate. He was the one who'd had the nightmares revealing what had happened. If he'd bothered to take the time to look outside his own concerns long enough, he would have realized that he should have kept Weasley from pushing.  
  
Severus clamped down on those thoughts. Madam Pomfrey was quite capable of dealing with pushing Gryffindors. Despite her sweet Hufflepuff nature, she had a cast-iron will and spine of steel when it came to the protection of her patients. Both Granger and Malfoy would be quite safe in her care. Right now, it was time for him to worry about himself.  
  
  
TBC  
Kiristeen  
Feedback: the food of the gods . . . especially muses. : )  
Kiristeen@kiristeen.com  
  
  



	15. chapter Fourteen

Starts off with Hermione's POV -- Just a little reminder, what she's going through and thinking may not be suitable for all audiences, part of the reason for the rating. Some language, and hints of rape. No flashbacks.  
  
  
  
  
**********  
Chapter Fourteen  
**********  
  
  
Hermione watched the door close behind Madam Pomfrey and Mrs. Annetti, feeling more alone than she could _ever_ remember feeling. She wanted to see Harry and Ron. Well, she wanted to want to, actually. Right now it was simply impossible. Just the thought of her two friends being in the same room with her was nauseating, as well as a touch frightening.  
  
She gulped, fighting yet another bout of tears. She couldn't believe she'd _completely_ forgotten what had happened to her. How? It didn't seem possible really, not without a powerful memory charm. Oh, she'd heard of it. Traumatic Amnesia, it was called. It still seemed a little far fetched when she really thought about it.   
  
Now that she had her memories back, however, she really wished she could go back the innocence she'd held in not know who she was and what had happened; though, the last few months were pretty much a blur in her mind that she didn't really remember much about -- except for Cecily and days of boredom, very _safe_ boredom. Safe boredom seemed _really_ nice right about now. Safe, ignorant, boredom.  
  
She pushed all of it down. Right now she didn't want to deal with any of it. She was here, _home_. She was safe -- if not bored or ignorant, and she supposed that considering which of the three it was; one out of three really wasn't all that bad. Resolute about putting the ordeal behind her, she decided she would ask Madam Pomfrey about getting her text books brought to her. She had a lot of catching up to do and she had no delusions what-so-ever about her chances of getting out of the infirmary any time soon. Madam Pomfrey was notorious for keeping patients way longer than _they_ felt was strictly necessary.  
  
Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, Hermione rose slowly, swaying as she stood. Her balance seemed all off, like she'd lain in bed for a very long time. She knew she hadn't, for all that her hazy memory of the last few months was anything but reliable, which confused her some. Frowning in confusion, she braced herself and took a tentative step forward, quickly grabbing the bedtable as she wobbled. She didn't want to fall. That was just about the last thing she needed. If she did that, they would all come back, fussing over her, 'helping' her, trying to get her to 'talk' about it, and worst of all, trying to make her 'comfortable'. As if she could ever feel comfortable again. Her skin crawled, itched, like she hadn't bathed in weeks. Who could be comfortable with that?  
  
Ignoring the nagging feeling fluttering for attention in the back of her mind that she was forgetting something very important, Hermione continued clinging to the bedtable. Anything important enough she would remember in time, and right now, she was satisfied with that. Right now, she cared more about getting a bath, than remembering some tiny tidbit she'd forgotten. She swallowed nervously as she stared longingly at the bathroom door clear across the room. She wanted to bathe so badly! No, that wasn't right; she didn't want to, she _needed_ to. She slowly inched her way carefully across the floor, making sure to stick close to support objects. She wanted privacy, not the awkward presence of people who didn't know quite what to say to 'make it all better'. They all wanted to make it better, and that was the problem -- they couldn't.  
  
_It will never be better again!_ she thought, wanting to scream it at the empty air around her, wishing they could understand that she didn't want their pathetic attempts. All that did was keep bringing back up, made her relive it over and over. According to them, Voldemort was dead, so what happened didn't matter anymore, her _ordeal_ didn't matter to anyone but her. Why couldn't they just forget it? Why couldn't the just let her forget it. She had once, maybe she could again.  
  
Heaving a sigh of relief, Hermione reached the bathroom. Moments later, she sank gratefully onto the toilet, her legs threatening rebelliously to never support her again. It wasn't until that moment that she realized she had completely forgotten she didn't have a wand anymore.   
  
Slowly, unnoticed at first, tears slipped silently down her face, coming faster and faster until she was sobbing uncontrollably. He'd taken _everything_ from her! She had nothing left.  
  
_Such a _brave_ Gryffindor,_ came a snarly voice in her mind, sounding suspiciously familiar. _Are you sure you weren't _missorted?  
  
She gasped in outrage, that overwhelming rush of emotion pushing aside everything else. Pushing herself off the toilet, Hermione reached for the counter, and looked into the mirror above the sink. It didn't speak, thank everything holy, and she simply stared. There had to be something different about her, some telltale mark that had been left to tell the world what she'd been through, what she'd survived. Oh sure, there were the scars on her body of the torture Malfoy had put her through, but that was separate, something that could have been something to be proud of having survived. The other wasn't. She'd _let_ him do that to her, just to keep secrets. She hadn't fought him. She'd just lain there, on the ground, and _let_ him do what he wanted.  
  
There weren't any marks to show that. She looked the same, exactly the same. Well, she was a bit pale, but that was to be expected . . . all things considered. It certainly wasn't a permanent mark of any kind. A single sob escaped her as she continued to stare. She could still feel his hands, his body, his-- Why couldn't she _see_ a difference, if she could feel it? That would make it better, she thought, easier. It would certainly help to have physical proof of her suffering instead of everything looking absolutely fucking _NORMAL_.  
  
She turned desperately toward the bath. There had to be a way to turn it on without her wand. Suddenly remembering Snape's counter-cursing in first year, she wondered if she too could do magic without her wand. It wasn't something she'd tried before. Taking a deep breath, she focused, and uttered the words of the activation spell. Grinning in relief when the water flowed at her words, she quickly undressed, letting her clothing fall to untidily the floor.  
  
**  
  
Draco woke with a start, gasping and bolting upright before he took in his surroundings. It took only seconds for him to realize what had happened. He groaned and flopped back down onto the bed. He couldn't believe this was happening to him. He'd fain-- passed out in front of Professor Snape. Merlin help him, but he was sure the man would never let him live that down.   
  
Voices from deeper in the infirmary brought him out of his thoughts, and he listened, even as he feigned sleep.  
  
"But _why_ Madam Pomfrey?" Ron asked, sounding very hurt, and very angry.  
  
"I'm sorry, boys," the medi-witch replied firmly. "She's been through quite a trauma, and she's simply too tired for visitors right now."  
  
"It's all right, Madam Pomfrey," Potter replied calmly. "Come on, Ron, maybe she'll see us tomorrow."  
  
"But--"  
  
"No buts, Mr. Weasley," Madam Pomfrey interjected firmly. "Out with you both."  
  
Ron protested the whole way, but Potter was strangely silent. That surprised Draco. It wasn't Ron's temper that did it. Draco was well aware of Ron's temper . . . he'd certainly used it against the red-head often enough over the years. What troubled him was Harry's very uncharacteristic willingness to do as he was told.  
  
_What does he know?_  
  
Draco didn't find any answers by the time both Ron's and Potter's voices faded as they left the infirmary. Not sure what to do, what to think, he sighed, deeply.  
  
"Good. You're awake, Mr. Malfoy," Madam Pomfrey said as she bustled into the room.   
  
Draco's eyes snapped open and he glared at the too perky medi-witch. His life was falling apart, didn't she know that? How could she talk to him in that too sweet, too happy tone?  
  
"How are you feeling now?" she continued, just as brightly, moving closer and running her wand over him in a quick check. "Better, yes?"  
  
He stared at her a moment before replying, then nodded slowly. He certainly wasn't going to fai-- _pass out_ again, if that's what she meant. "Yes, Ma'am," he said. "I was just a little. . . ."  
  
"Overwhelmed," Madam Pomfrey inserted while Draco tried to search for a word that wasn't _too_ embarrassing. "Yes, Mr. Malfoy. It's only natural."  
  
"You know?" he asked, horrified. _Merlin! How many people know?_  
  
"Now, now, Mr. Malfoy, I'm not one to be telling tales. No one will hear anything from me." She stared at him pointedly, then continued. "About any of it."  
  
Swallowing, grateful beyond belief, Draco nodded. Ron had been amazingly accepting, but somehow he didn't think the whole of Hogwarts would be as eager to do so. He'd be ostracised for sure -- especially if the _whole_ truth came out. At that point, he didn't think even Ron would be able to abide being near him.  
  
_Oh, and Hermione would be so thrilled with it getting out?_  
  
Draco flinched at that thought. Shifting uncomfortably, still not used to considering others before himself, especially not-- "Thank you, Madam Pomfrey," he said suddenly, cutting off his own chain of thoughts. He didn't want to deal with that right that moment. In fact, he'd really rather not deal with it at all. "Can I go?"  
  
_Please!_ he pleaded emphatically, no less heartfelt for being silent. He was still highly embarrassed about why he was there in the first place. He'd acted like a right _girl_ and he just wanted to forget it.  
  
Draco left the moment Madam Pomfrey nodded, perversely just as angry with her suddenly sad and understanding expression as he had been, only moments ago, with her cheerfulness. He automatically began heading toward the dungeons, toward the Slytherin dorms, needing to be alone. He hadn't made it more than a few feet when he abruptly did an about-face, and headed the opposite direction.  
  
He wanted to be alone, outside. He had to get away from the suddenly suffocating, _looming_, cold stone of the castle walls. He didn't breathe easily until he passed through the front door and out onto the castle grounds. Not picking any specific direction, he simply walked, refusing to let himself think about anything.  
  
What seemed a short time later, he was quite surprised to find himself once again next to the lake.  
  
_Full circle._  
  
Shaking his head he sank to the ground, feeling more weary than he could ever remember feeling. The late afternoon sun shown down on him as he let himself take in his surroundings, concentrating on that, rather than the upheaving events of the last several hours. It didn't take him long to realize that he'd chosen to sit in the very same spot as he had earlier.  
  
_I kissed Ron **Weasley** . . . and I think I liked it. I think I **really** liked it._  
  
Draco blew out an explosive breath. This was definitely an added complication. His eyes lost their focus as he relived the brief kiss. He had to admit, as added complications, it was a far more pleasant one to dwell on than all the others. His breathing quickened as he remembered the feelings that had shot through him the moment Ron Weasley had started to lean forward. Draco had known the instant the red-head had moved what he was going to do. The problem was, Draco had frozen, conflicting emotions rushing through him -- not the least of which had been a rather surprising dose of longing.   
  
Considering it as objectively as he could, he realized that it had actually been very chaste, all very virginal . . . and all that rot. He had no clue why it had it had affected him so profoundly. His first kiss from a girl certainly hadn't affected him that way.  
  
It made him uncomfortable to look at it too closely. He'd never been attracted to blokes before, not seriously. He'd been known to occasionally, once or twice, notice a certain appeal. It wasn't anything he'd taken seriously, nor worried overly much about. Now, though, he was finding he had to re-evaluate certain of his priorities. One remained constant, of course, his duty to the Malfoy name. He just wasn't sure how he could manage to fit one Ronald Weasley into that. Somehow, he didn't think Ron would be happy being with him if he married a woman -- even if it was only to get an legitimate heir.   
  
Draco sighed deeply, feeling even more lost and confused than he'd started out. Duty had been drilled into him practically from the cradle, forcefed right along side everything else. Now, for the very first time in his life, he found himself wanting nothing more than to cast that aside and do what he wanted instead. This was different than his earlier choosing of sides, and in some ways far more difficult. In his first choice, he had defied his father wishes. In this he would defying not a single person, however important; he would be defying his entire family line, his _ancient_ family line.  
  
Ron was right, he thought defiantly, there really was no one left for him to answer to. He had only himself. The big question on that was whether he would be able to live with himself if he shrugged it all aside.  
  
_If **she** doesn't abort, there might be hope of someone else._  
  
Draco gasped at the very idea. It was shocking. It was, in a word, unbelievable that he would even consider it. What happened to all his grandiose words to Ron about it being his duty to keep the line pure? He frowned, glaring out over the lake. There was no way she'd keep it. He knew that. It wasn't some illicit 'love child'. His father had raped her, leaving her with the remains of that violent act. The debate he was having with himself was utterly pointless, because the foundation of it would never happen.  
  
  
TBC  
Kiristeen  
Feedback, live for it. : )  
Kiristeen@kiristeen.com  
  
  
  



	16. Chapter Fifteen

**********  
Chapter Fifteen  
**********  
  
  
Severus Snape slowly made his way from the infirmary to his private chambers. _At last!_ he thought as the door swung shut behind him. He was under absolutely no delusion about how much time he was going to be spending alone for the next couple of days, and he wanted to take advantage of the fact that he could be alone now. He was, unfortunately, the only person here at Hogwarts to whom Draco could speak about what was troubling him. He seriously doubted, the boy had confided the worst of his fears and torn feelings to the Weasley boy -- not if Severus were to judge by the *touching* scene he'd interrupted. Ronald Weasley was far too judgemental and quick to temper for that to be the case.  
  
Oh, he was under no delusions that once past the initial shock Draco would continue as he had today. Today had been an extreme anomaly. _Thank Circe!_ What would probably happen is that the boy would find reasons to search him out, spend time in his company. They would be perfectly sound reasons, too, nothing there to 'give away' his real reasons. The reason being that he 'needed' to spend time with someone who not only knew everything, but didn't change their opinion about him. Good or bad, wouldn't really matter even, Severus suspected; the 'sameness' of treatment would be what . . . comforted him. At least that seemed likely to him. It was certainly what *he* would have wanted, to be treated *the* *same*.  
  
The problem was, well the biggest problem on *his* part, was the fact that as much as he knew all this, he also knew he simply didn't have the temperament to coax Draco through this. Sooner or later -- probably sooner, he admitted to himself honestly -- he was going to lose his temper, and that was going to be the end of Draco asking, silently or otherwise, for help.  
  
And, of course, that little conundrum didn't include Miss Granger's little problem. The chit didn't have long to decide what to do, and either way -- not that he really thought this would end more than one way -- Miss Granger would not be the only one suffering through the decision.   
  
He knew full well what Draco had been in the middle of saying when he'd fainted in the school hallway. It had just hit the poor boy that the baby Miss Granger -- his school mate -- was carrying, a child of rape, was related to him, was, or rather would be, a sibling. That would be true forever, regardless of whether Miss Granger terminated or not, regardless of whether either Miss Granger or Draco liked it or not.  
  
He seriously doubted, too, whether that project he'd assigned the two students would actually get done, then cringed at that stray, utterly selfish thought.  
  
_Damn it all to Dante's hell and back!_ Snape thought viciously, striding toward his liquor cabinet. He was going to get thoroughly pissed and completely forget about students' troubles for a few hours. Who cared if polite custom said it was too early! He'd spent enough of today worrying about others. Now was *his* time, his time to be alone, his time to be concerned with himself. He just thanked Merlin it wasn't a weekday.  
  
**  
  
Ron stormed away from the Gryffindor tower. Harry knew something. How Harry did, Ron didn't know, but he knew *something* about why Hermione had refused to see them. The problem was, Harry wasn't talking, and it was driving Ron crazy. He knew he wasn't entitled to know *everything* that went on . . . at least his brain did . . . when he could hear it. The problem was, to his heart, it felt like both his best friends were locking him out.  
  
Clenching his hands into fists, Ron tried to figure it out on his own. If no one was going to be honest, well, then; he'd just do what the *three* of them had been doing since 1st year. He wasn't going to stop now, just because no one else thought he could understand what was going on. He wasn't just 'good ol' Ron, friendly, but dumb as a post. Sure, he wasn't as into school as either Harry or Hermione. He chuckled; in Hermione's case he didn't think he knew *anyone* who took school as seriously.  
  
He smiled as a moment from 1st year flashed through his mind.  
  
  
  
~~~~~"I'm going to bed," Hermione said primly, "Before we end up dead, or *worse*, expelled." With a nod worthy of a queen, Hermione closed the door on them.  
  
Ron leaned toward Harry just the slightest bit. "That girl has *got* to resort her priorities."~~~~~  
  
  
  
She hadn't changed much since then, a little less self-righteous -- _Thank Merlin!_ -- but seemed to maintain the same viewpoint of death vs. expulsion, expulsion being worse by several orders of magnitude.  
  
He sighed, heading out a side door, and attacked the problem the way he would a chess game . . . logically. Except for when playing that game, making logic over-ride his temper wasn't something he often managed to do, but right now, he had to if he wanted to figure this out. There was no one else to calm him down.  
  
He organized his thoughts carefully. This was like he was planning an attack, after all, an attack to find the hidden truth. He *knew* several things. Hermione had been taken by deatheaters. She had been tortured by them. He knew Mr. Malfoy, the older one, had been a deatheater.  
  
He *suspected* Malfoy had been the one, or one of the people, to hurt Mione. That, of course, wasn't proven, it was all circumstantial. He was sure enough, however, to accept it as tentative truth, considering Hermione's reaction to Draco this morning.  
  
He also had several other little clues as to the missing truth. Harry and Hermione were both acting very strangely. He wasn't sure how Harry's behavior fit in, but was reasonably sure Hermione's was a direct result of it, whatever 'it' was.  
  
The problem was, he couldn't seem to connect the dots, make all the little clues fit. He knew, or at least thought he did, what deatheaters did to--  
  
It was then the lightening struck. He paled and his stomach lurched. "Oh, Mione!" he exclaimed. He wished, now, he hadn't been so insistent on figuring it all out. He wasn't sure he could handle it. It was just assumption at this point, but he was pretty sure he was right; it certainly fit all the facts. He just really, *really* wished it didn't!  
  
He swallowed, shuddering. _No wonder she didn't want me or Harry anywhere near her!_ he thought in anguish. He didn't know what to do now. The thing was, there wasn't anyone he could talk to about it, to figure out if there *was* anything he could do to help. This wasn't exactly something he could throw out to just anyone to get advice.  
  
Ron began to run. He was seriously confused, hurt, and angry -- especially angry. Bloody hell, was he angry. Rage flowed freely inside him and he desperately wanted to lash out, lash out and destroy the cause of Hermione's pain, and he suspected Draco's. But there was nothing left to lash out at. Lucius Malfoy was already dead. Voldemort was dead. Professor Snape had got there first -- in *both* cases -- killing the bloody bastards the same day, the day that nearly everyone he knew had fought to survive.  
  
He ran until he gasped for air, his side aching with every jolting step. He continued to run until a sight he hadn't expected to see startled him out of his mindless flight.  
  
Draco Malfoy was sitting by the lake, alone. Ron stopped far enough away not to disturb the blond Slytherin. He wasn't stupid. He was still too angry to talk reasonably. He knew that; though, a very large part of him wanted to take his frustrations out on the son despite the fact that none of this was Draco's fault. He knew damn well that if they started talking, he would lash out. Draco was the closest thing to being the person he *really* wanted to destroy, and he knew he couldn't trust his uncertain temper not to get in the way of anything they might say to each other.  
  
Feeling incredibly alone, Ron dropped to the ground and simply watched Draco. He sat there for Merlin only knew how long before he couldn't do it anymore. There was one way; he just hoped Draco would cooperate. He really didn't want to screw this up.  
  
Slowly, he walked toward Draco, somewhere along the line realizing the other boy was sitting in exactly the same spot he had been earlier. He drew in a swift breath as his gut tightened and his heart pounded. What it meant to Draco, he didn't know, but Ron, torn though he was, thought that maybe, just maybe, he liked the idea that Draco didn't regret what had happened.  
  
That was a very scary thought, but for now, he shoved it aside, circling around to approach Draco from the front. He was only a few feet away when Draco's head snapped up, within touching distance when Draco began to speak.  
  
Ron reached out and lightly rested two fingers across the mouth his had touched earlier. He shook his head and sat down next to Draco, letting his hand fall 'carelessly' onto the blond's knee. He stared out over the lake, not looking at his companion, and after several silent minutes had past, he felt a hand lay gently across his.  
  
He smiled, and stole a sideways glance. Draco was doing the same. He struck him as kind of funny, in an awkward sort of way. His smile widened, though he knew he looked quite goofy when he did that. He blushed when Draco smiled back, quickly returning his attention to the lake.  
  
They sat there together, not saying anything, not needing to, until the sky began to darken. With nearly simultaneous sighs -- which caused a snort of laughter from both of them -- they rose and headed back toward the castle.  
  
Ron grinned, secretly very pleased when Draco slid a hand into his as the walked. Neither of them said anything, completing the short trip in companionable silence.  
  
  
TBC  
Kiristeen  
Feedback: muchly appreciated! : )  
Kiristeen@kiristeen.com  
  
  
AN: Thank you *everyone* who has reviewed to date! You all are great and I appreciate each and every one of you more than you can imagine. : )  
  
  



	17. Chapter Sixteen

**********  
Chapter Sixteen  
**********  
  
  
Severus warded the potions classroom behind him, glad to be done with classes for the term. Technically, he still had office hours to occupy himself through, but with it being the last day before winter break, he seriously doubted anyone would brave his office, or more precisely, him. He sighed as he headed there anyway. He did have end of term papers to grade -- though not nearly as many left as he'd thought he'd have three days ago.  
  
He freely admitted, at least to himself, that the last three days had not gone anything like he'd predicted. He had not been sought out by Mr. Malfoy once, let alone the repeated times he had anticipated . . . dreaded. Severus was not entirely certain whether that should relieve or concern him. In point of fact, Malfoy had spent very little time in the dungeons at all, outside of class and after curfew -- though years of experience had Severus highly doubting that all the hours of 'after curfew' could be assumed accounted for. Of course, the fact that he had yet to see either Malfoy or Weasley without the other in tow, might have something to do with that. He was just extremely grateful he'd caught sight of *nothing* even remotely hinting at what he'd seen 'that day' by the lake.  
  
He met no one the short while it took him to reach his office, and once the door was closed behind him -- though, he neither locked nor warded it -- he settled himself behind his desk fully intending on finishing the last of the 6th year essays. Unfortunately, he had no more than started the first one when a knock on his office door startled him.  
  
"Come in," he snarled, pushing his chair back to stand. When he saw who stood in his doorway, however, he decided he would rather remain seated. The surprise of her visit was by itself enough to make him wary as to why she was here. He had not seen hide nor hair of Miss Granger since the day she'd passed through the front door of Hogwarts with no memory of who she was or what had happened to her.  
  
He had heard things, of course. The staff had *always* discussed the troubled students, working out the best ways to help them through what ever it was they were going through at the time. Miss Granger's situation was rather . . . unique. She'd had well over three months to heal from the physical injuries inflicted on her without the press of nightmares, or memories, wearing down her psyche. Unfortunately, the trauma she'd survived had left more than one mark on her, and her late returning memories had left her very little time to deal with one of them safely.  
  
Three days. Three whole days had passed, and no one had approached him for the appropriate potion to take care of the problem. Even now it would be messy, painful, and dangerous. Every day she delayed made those things exponentially worse. Poppy and Minerva were at their wits end. Both had tried to subtly talk to Miss Granger about it, tried asking her if she'd reached a 'decision' yet. Each of their attempts had been met with furious rebuffs.  
  
Apparently, Miss Granger couldn't be *bothered* with decisions and simply wished to be left alone. If they pushed, she got hysterical. They backed off. If she didn't get herself kick started soon, she wouldn't have a decision to make, because it would be too late to do anything without serious risk to her life. He had seriously considered shaking the stubborn witch and forcing her to just do it and get it over with. Obviously she couldn't recover from this if she was carrying around a constant reminder!  
  
And now, here she was, standing in his office, obviously wanting something from him. Perhaps she'd finally come to her senses and come to him directly. Anything the possible, he supposed. "What is it, Miss Granger?" he asked gruffly, shaking off the unwanted thoughts of adult responsibilities to children. He wanted nothing to do with the girl. Her very presence brought up memories he'd long buried and had absolutely no wish to recall.   
  
He was not her head of house -- thank everyone and everything ever in existence for *that* fact -- so it was not his responsibility to speak to her about her problems. He'd brew the potion if she asked, of course, beyond that, none of it was his business.  
  
"The last day I was at Hogwarts before . . . before,"  
  
"What about that day?" Severus interrupted abruptly. He wanted nothing to do with watching her stumble over her words, or Merlin forbid, start to *cry*.  
  
Miss Granger snorted a short abrupt laugh, hastily cut off, and squared her shoulders. "I was given a detention that day by you."  
  
_She was?_ Severus thought back to that day, the chaos that surrounded it didn't make it easy to remember something as mundane as assigning detention. Oh, yes, he had, actually. "What of it?" he asked irritably.  
  
"I wanted to make arrangements to get it out of the way."  
  
_Excuse me?!_ Severus frowned, deeply. He stared at the Gryffindor standing in front him, shifting nervously from foot to foot, chin lifted -- he couldn't tell whether it was defiance or pride that had it that way -- waiting impatiently for him to say something. "Very well," he snapped, not entirely certain why he didn't just chase the silly little chit right out of his office for being utterly ridiculous. "Follow me."   
  
He swept out from behind his desk, not even bothering to check to see if she was obeying. If she wanted to serve a bloody detention, she would serve a bloody detention! But unlike the usual ones, he would have her do something that would actually *help* him. He hated -- loathed with an aching passion, actually -- end of term inventory. *She* would do it for him. He smirked. One of the few non-Ravenclaw students he'd actually trust to do it right.  
  
He strode into his store room, removing wards as he went. Not bothering to turn around until he'd grabbed the scroll that contained the beginning of term amounts, Severus smirked. "End of term inventory," he said. Miss Granger winced in response, causing his smirk to broaden. So, perfect Miss Granger, Miss I love to know everything, wasn't fond of taking inventory, either. So much the better. "I expected it done properly and without magic, Miss Granger."  
  
Granger's eyes widened slightly as she took in the size of the storeroom, her mind obviously busy calculating exactly how long it would take. When her gaze returned to him, he saw the answer she had come up with. 'Forever'. In actuality, it would take only a couple of hours, he was sure, but he well knew how daunting the task looked in the beginning. It always did.  
  
He thrust the parchment out toward her. "Ink and quill are on the table behind you," he said harshly, "I suggest you get started." No sooner had she taken the parchment than Severus swept past her and back out into his office.  
  
Fairly flinging himself down into the chair behind his desk, Severus glared at the door to the storage room. Serving a detention assigned before-- nearly four months ago. It was preposterous. If she remembered being given the bloody detention, she remembered the reason for it had been made up out of whole cloth! So, sure as he was surly, it wasn't guilt that had her here, braving his presence.  
  
Not knowing *why* was driving Severus out of his mind. He didn't understand the Gryffindor mentality at the best of times, and when they acted strangely he had no hope at all -- and he *didn't* like it. Mysteries were dangerous things, and tended to rear up and bite you in the arse when you least expected it. It never even occurred to him to apply the same logic to the confusing Gryffindor that he had to Draco. Draco was Slytherin; she was not.  
  
Growling, as much at himself as at the mystery represented by the stubborn Gryffindor currently in his storeroom, Severus pushed it out of his mind, resolutely returning his attention to the stack of 6th year essays. Surprisingly, it didn't take long for the bloody things to take his mind off the current problem. The first one was one of the worst he'd ever graded and the room around him faded as he lost himself to the vindictive delight of red-marking the atrocious paper, side-noting acidic comments about where the 'alleged' student had obtained his information -- a picture book, perhaps? If the spelling and grammar of the essay -- by themselves -- were anything to judge by, they certainly hadn't graduated to reading actual *words* yet. The ones that followed weren't much better, but most of them were at least readable.  
  
He didn't look up from his grading until three softly spoken words from across his office interrupted him.  
  
"I'm finished, Professor," Miss Granger announced.  
  
He frowned. "If you're done, then leave," he snapped. "Just leave the parchment on my desk." So saying he returned his attention to the last essay laying ungraded in front of him. Well, he returned *most* of his attention to it. Part of it was very much aware of the movements of the student who had suddenly become something of an enigma.  
  
She set down the parchment without a word and turned, heading for the door.  
  
Figuring she was as good as gone, Severus began marking the essay.  
  
"Thank you," Miss Granger whispered.  
  
Severus immediately snapped his head up, but Miss Granger had already disappeared out into the hall. _Thank you?!_ he wondered, incredulous. _For what?_ For the briefest of moments, he seriously considered storming after the cheeky chit and demanding to know what in Circe's name she'd bloody well thanked him for. He'd been a surly bastard to her, just the same as always. What was there to thank him for?  
  
Shaking his head as the image of him chasing down the Gryffindor girl came to mind, he decided firmly against the idea, the image not settling well. "Silly child!" he muttered. Ten minutes later, he gave up on concentrating on the last essay. He couldn't give it enough attention. Too much of his thoughts kept straying to the damned child who'd *thanked* him after a detention. It didn't make sense -- well, none of the evening made sense, but that part least of all.  
  
Snarling angrily, not sure who he was more upset with, himself or Miss Granger, Severus strode out of his office, stopping on his way to his private chambers only long enough to lock and ward both his storeroom and his office door. It was almost time for dinner, and for a change he was actually hungry.  
  
  
TBC  
Kiristeen  
Feedback: craved by writers and muses alike. : )  
Kiristeen@kiristeen.com  
  
  



	18. Chapter Seventeen

Hello everyone! : ) You're reviews are muchly appreciated, and certainly keep the fires going under the muses. Thank you all.  
  
  
**********  
Chapter Seventeen  
**********  
  
Severus ate quickly, not wanting to remain in the Great Hall one moment longer than necessary. His attention kept straying to three students in particular and he'd had enough of that for one day. All three had managed to surprise him rather consistently lately, not something he particularly enjoyed at the best of times. This was not the best of times.  
  
Granger, in particular, was preying on his mind. He'd expected to see her at dinner . . . not that he'd actively looked for her, but her absence had been noticed. He had wanted the opportunity to study the girl, see if he could figure out what she wanted. It was quite rude of her not to show up. He did wonder if perhaps she had ventured out a little too soon, and was even now back under Poppy's ever-so *efficient* care. Poppy was here, however, so Granger might have simply decided to skip. Shaking his head at the rather obsessive turn his thoughts had taken, he resolutely changed their course.  
  
The other professors, for a rather pleasant change, left him pretty much alone. It didn't happen often, most of them having one bone or another to pick with him by dinner time. Even Albus wasn't nagging at him tonight. All in all, despite the contrary nature of his thoughts, it was turning out to be one of the nicer times he'd spent in the Great Hall as an adult. It didn't make him inclined to remain past finishing his repast, however. That would only invite inane conversation. He had just pushed his plate away when his respite ended.  
  
"Professor Snape?"  
  
"What is it, Mr. Malfoy?" he asked a touch more impatiently than he usually addressed the boy. _When it rains it pours,_ he thought sourly. First Miss Granger and now Mr. Malfoy. Something clicked then. _I'm such an idiot!_ Finally, someone who wanted something from him that he was able to give. What Severus had originally thought Malfoy would want, *she* had wanted. To be treated normally, as if nothing had happened, as if nothing was different.  
  
He almost snorted. He'd be willing to bet Poppy and Minerva were treating her with kid gloves, trying to do things for her, trying to 'cheer her up'. He shuddered, *very* glad it was someone else and not him.  
  
"Weasley and I have the beginnings of that project you assigned us. I'd like to hand it over to you at your convenience," Malfoy replied evenly.  
  
Well, that was a surprise. And yet again, he'd misjudged. He narrowed his eyes, staring at the boy relentlessly. He must *really* be off his game lately. "Very well, Mr. Malfoy," he replied, now even more grateful the term had ended. Despite the fall of the Dark Lord, and hence his respite from a double life, Severus had never needed the break more. "You and Mr. Weasley may come to my office directly after dinner and I will have a look at it then."  
  
Severus almost snapped when, before nodding, Malfoy gave him the oddest look, like the boy was wondering if *he* was okay. Severus glared.  
  
"We'll be there, Professor," Malfoy said, quickly heading back to the Slytherin table.  
  
_Well,_ he thought with a mental smirk, _at least the glare still works._  
  
With that thought, he nodded to his remaining colleagues -- _and when did the others leave precisely?_ -- and headed out the staff door.  
  
**  
  
He was ready and waiting . . . and beginning to get impatient when a brief knock on the door alerted Severus to the arrival of Malfoy and Weasley. "Come in," he called gruffly, not bothering to rise from his desk. He simply waited until they approached and preemptorily held out a hand.  
  
Malfoy handed him a fairly long scroll, and Severus' eyebrow shot up when the first thing on the page was a list of definitions. He shot a look at Malfoy. "You divided 'non-purebloods' into several categories. Why?" he demanded.  
  
"Well, Sir," Malfoy began, taking a deep breath. "It became apparent very quickly that it made a difference how many generations removed muggle influence in the ancestry was."  
  
Weasley nodded. "I didn't expect that."  
  
Severus turned his attention to Weasley. "So you agree with the divisions here?" he asked.  
  
"For the purposes of this report, yes."  
  
Snorting, Severus smirked. "Distinction noted, Weasley," he sneered.  
  
Weasley flushed, his eyes flashing, but remained surprisingly silent.  
  
Looking back at the scroll, Severus frowned suddenly. "Are these numbers accurate?" he demanded. At a quick glance there didn't seem to be any truly significant difference in *any* of the sub groups, through he did notice a most disturbing rise in what the two boys were documenting as non-surviving children in the pureblood and as close to pureblood as makes no difference families. He wondered how much of that was due to Voldemort's influence, and whether they had even thought to take that into account in their numbers.  
  
Shifting uneasily, Malfoy nodded. It was Weasley, however, that sorted through the papers he carried and handed him a small stack. "These are our individual charts broken down by decades, and below that by type of parental pairing."  
  
Rifling through the pages quickly, Severus found the relevant sections. Yes, they had a separate number tally for children who'd been killed by outside influence -- accidents, diseases, murder. Right now it was just totals, numbers that alone meant nothing, but even at a quick glance, Severus was . . . disturbed by the data. Other than the one thing, he wasn't entirely sure why, but he'd learned a very long time ago to trust his instincts.  
  
"Good start, Mr. Malfoy," Severus said sternly. "You have copies of all this I assume," he continued, his tone indicating he thought the exact opposite.  
  
"Of the totals sheet, Professor, not the charts," Malfoy replied.   
  
He looked confused. _Good,_ Severus thought, _might do him some good._  
  
"Well," he urged impatiently, " *make* copies." Eyes purposely narrowing, he curved his lips into his best sneer. "Or did you expect to be able to turn in half work and still get full credit?" And he certainly needed copies if he was going to take the time to verify their work. He couldn't very well grade their finished project if he didn't know what he was looking at.  
  
A flash of hurt from Malfoy, one of anger from Weasley.  
  
_Interesting,_ Severus thought, pondering the different reactions, as both of them set to magically copying the original charts. Soon enough both they and he had a set. "I expect to see the finished report, on time, gentlemen. Understood?"  
  
A mumbled set of, 'yes, Sir,' and the two boys were headed for the door; he stopped them.  
  
"Weasley," he called shortly, the perfect solution to the thought of losing his entire break to the project he'd assigned them. He almost chuckled as the boy's shoulders drooped before he turned back around.  
  
"Yes, Professor?"  
  
"Remind Miss Granger she has detention in one hour. We wouldn't want her to get in trouble for forgetting it, now would we," he went on with a silky sneer."  
  
Severus *almost* laughed at the gobsmacked expression that suddenly came over Weasley's freckled face, but the brief, *surprising* one of anger on Malfoy, was sobering -- as well as confusing. Both boys left without further word, but Severus was left pondering when the two of them had traded personalities, and who he needed to blame for thrusting the unsettling round-about in his lap. Not that he had *ever* seen Malfoy look openly shocked, but the flash of anger -- apparently on Miss Granger's behalf -- should have firmly belonged to Weasley.  
  
The boy's voices faded slowly as the door closed behind them.  
  
"Have you even *seen* Granger?" Malfoy asked in a hissed whisper.  
  
"No," Weasley replied shortly. "How the bloody hell could she have gotten detention stuck in the infirmary?"  
  
"Good question."  
  
"Guess, I'll just let Madam Pomfrey know about. . . ."  
  
Severus frowned. He'd assumed that Granger's trip to the dungeons had been made because she'd been released. Just what he needed, yet *another* conundrum to figure out. Life not being fair was really taking a step into surreal when Severus began wishing he was still a spy, at least back then, he knew what to expect.  
  
TBC  
Kiristeen  
Feedback: Muchly appreciated!  
Kiristeen@kiristeen.com  
  
  
  



	19. Chapter Eighteen

**********  
Chapter Eighteen  
**********  
  
  
Madam Pomfrey tapped her foot, glaring at Hermione. Hermione ignored her, well, for the most part. She glared right back, hands on her hips. "I'm going."  
  
Sighing, Madam Pomfrey shook her head. "You snuck out of here last night, and by the time you came back you were barely able to keep to your feet, child."  
  
Hermione seethed. She may not be old as dirt, but she wasn't a child. She hadn't been for a long time. That had been stolen from her along with everything else. Why didn't they understand that? She was *suffocating* here, coddled, patted, told 'it'll just take time to get back on your feet', 'don't rush it, just rest'. Well, she didn't *want* to rest. She just wanted people to quit treating her like she was going to break if they said the wrong thing.  
  
"Now you want to go running off, be without proper medical supervision. Well, I just won't let--"  
  
Hermione lifted her chin defiantly. "I'm going *home* Madam Pomfrey. It's not like I'm running off to tour the world." _Sheesh!_ Hermione thought indignantly. _You'd think I was some hysterical 1st year or something!_ Then she almost cringed, the times she'd used their tentativeness around her to her advantage, throwing hysterical tantrums every time they pressed her to make a decision. What was so bloody important about making a decision. Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully.  
  
"I've made my *decision*, Madam Pomfrey, and I'm *going* *home*."  
  
Outright shock spread across the medi-witch's face, her mouth parting in a nearly silent, 'oh!' "You've decided then?"  
  
Hermione nodded firmly. _Happy now?_ She almost rolled her eyes.  
  
"Well," Madam Pomfrey said after a long time of staring at her assessively, "I must admit I'm surprised by it."  
  
Hermione almost growled, stopping herself only by sheer willpower. She had a lot of that, she'd discovered. First they want her to decide something -- anything apparently -- now when she does, it's suddenly 'surprising'!  
  
"Madam Pomfrey?"  
  
_Ron!_ Hermione eeped in startlement, and actually headed back for her room. _No! Damn it! I won't let this control me any more!_ Her heart pounding against her ribs, and seemingly trying to climb out her throat at the same time, Hermione turned back slowly, standing stiffly, and waited for the moment Ron appeared.  
  
He did, looking *exactly* like she remembered. She was *so* torn. Part of her wanted to cringe away and part of her wanted to bury herself in the comforting arms of the lanky red-head. Ron had always been good at that . . . clumsy, but good.  
  
"Madam--" Ron started to repeat, breaking off as soon as he caught sight of Hermione. " *Hermione*?!" he exclaimed, his words little louder than a hoarse whisper. "Bloody hell, it's good to see you."  
  
It was *so* good to hear that. Hermione managed a half smile, which bloomed into a nearly full one when she watched that oh-so-loved crooked, goofy, grin appear on Ron's face. "Don't swear, Ron," she replied, in mock repeat of *so* many conversations past. He didn't come any closer, though, for which Hermione was thankful. She seriously thought she might bolt if he did. He didn't look uncomfortable, either, which was *such* a refreshing change and was what held her in place. She didn't want to do *anything* that might change that.  
  
"Missed you," he said quietly.  
  
"Ron," she replied, his name coming out a little cracked. "I missed you, too." Her eyes began to sting, and knew to her mortification she was going to start crying any second. Her breath came in quick pants. If she started crying, Ron would try to comfort her, *hold* her. If he did that, she'd freak, she just knew it. Just thinking about it, twisted her gut into nauseating knots.  
  
"Mr. Weasley," Madam Pomfrey said firmly, cutting off Hermione's growing panic. "You needed me for something?"  
  
"Uh, no, well, yes, but--" Blowing out a frustrated breath, Ron shook his head and started over. "I've got a message for Hermione. I was going to give it to you, but since she's here, I could just tell it to her directly."  
  
A message? For her? "What is it, Ron?" she asked, nervous twitches back instantly. Who else wanted to send their 'best wishes', their 'hope you're well soon'?  
  
"Professor Snape wanted me to remind you about your detention tonight," Ron said.  
  
_Detention? I don't have detention,_ Hermione thought in confusion, frowning, anger quickly replacing any thought of trying to figure it out.  
  
"I can't believe that grea-- Um, sorry, Madam Pomfrey."  
  
Hermione almost laughed. Ron was obviously furious. It was the red flush combined with the clenched fists that gave it away. She knew exactly what he'd almost said, and judging by the disapproving frown on Madam Pomfrey, so did she. It was so familiar, so right, that suddenly Hermione wasn't angry any more.  
  
"It's alright, Ron. Did he say when?"  
  
"Yes," Ron replied immediately, a growl in his voice, "he said an hour, but that was almost half an hour ago."  
  
"I'd better go right away, then," she replied tightly. Eyes flashing, Hermione headed for the door. _How *dare* he do this with so little notice!_ she thought indignantly.   
  
"You will not," Madam Pomfrey commanded sternly. "I have not released you yet. I'll speak to Professor Snape. You can serve it after--"  
  
"No!" Hermione shouted. "I'm not sick, and you know it! I got better months ago." She'd meant to be calm and rational. She'd meant only to prevent Madam Pomfrey from making Professor Snape angry, well, angrier. Once she'd started, though, she couldn't seem to stop. "Something bad happened to me. Something *really* bad! I WON'T break, damn it! Leave me ALONE!"  
  
Madam Pomfrey hmmpphed, and opened her mouth, but Hermione was having none of it. She stalked out of the infirmary, slamming the door behind her.  
  
No more than five steps out of the medi-witch's territory, however, Hermione was shaking. She'd *screamed* at Madam Pomfrey! She'd walked out without letting an *authority figure* finish speaking! She'd *sworn*. She'd-- Hermione cast a hurried, fearful glance over her shoulder, quickening her pace to a near run, expecting to find Madam Pomfrey chasing after her, wanting to make her return to her confinement. It was as if *she* had done something wrong! Confined, guarded, 'do this', 'do that', 'no, don't do that'.  
  
And the anger returned in a forceful rush, leaving her just as weak as the astonished fear had. _Fine!_ She'd served so many undeserved detentions over the years that one more didn't matter, and even if *this* was one more, at least now she'd done something worthy of detention . . . several if she was being completely honest. Detention, even with *Snape* was better than being locked up in the blasted infirmary any longer.  
  
And as quickly as that, she laughed, her amusement startling her as it overwhelmed her as quickly as every other emotion seemed to lately. Sometimes she thought she was going crazy.  
  
She rounded the corner and ran into a solid body. Male. Blond hair. _HIM!_ No, no, not him. Too young. Hermione gasped, backing away, shaking her head. No, this wasn't *Him*; this was Draco. Bully. Brat. But not *Him*. She stopped backing up. "Malfoy," she said tightly, swallowing past the constriction in her throat.  
  
Malfoy stood frozen in front of her, his expression, surprisingly mirroring some of what she was feeling. What the hell was wrong with him?  
  
"Granger," he replied finally, his voice sounding as scratchy and raw as hers, as if he, too, was having to force vocal chords to work right.   
  
He *knew*!!  
  
"How?" she asked. It was the only word she could get out. She *hated* the way it came out sounding weak, and all trembly.  
  
Malfoy frowned at her. "How what?" he asked irritably.  
  
Hermione's jaw tightened, her teeth clenched tightly together. "You *know*," she replied. "How?"  
  
Malfoy actually looked away, shocking Hermione down to her toes. Malfoy *never* backed down. "Obvious, really. Most people don't scream and faint the moment they see me," he mumbled, never once looking up at her.  
  
Did he sound *hurt*? Sad? What? Okay, she just couldn't handle this right now. It was too much.  
  
"Look, I've, uh, got to go. Detention," she muttered, rushing past Malfoy. It took every ounce of courage she possessed to not look over her shoulder, to not make sure he wasn't following her. Still, she felt like his eyes were boring into her until she rounded the next corner. Even then she had to fight the urge to check.  
  
She didn't breath easy until she rushed into the potions classroom and shut the door behind her. Giggling, she clapped a hand over her mouth. She really was going crazy if she was *glad* to be in detention!  
  
"May I ask what you find so *amusing*?" Professor Snape growled.  
  
Hermione jumped, startled. She was early, she hadn't expected him to be here yet. Swallowing again, she opened her mouth to reply when the sudden image of her explaining *exactly* what she'd found so funny flashed through her mind. The only thing that emerged was a squeak.  
  
"Ummm, I don't think you'd find it as funny, Sir," she finally managed.  
  
His eyes narrowed suspiciously as he stared at her long and hard. Finally, however, his habitual scowl returned. He huffed as he turned away, grabbing up a stack of papers. He thrust them toward her and she blinked in surprise, taking them mostly out of habit.  
  
"W-what are these, Professor?"  
  
"Look at them, silly girl!" Professor Snape snapped. "And then *you* tell *me*," he continued, sneering in challenge.  
  
Hermione hastily dropped her eyes to the parchments she held, quickly scanning the top sheet. _What?!_ Startled, she looked back up at the professor, but he was staring at her impassively, waiting. Flustered, she returned her attention to the parchments, removing the top one.  
  
_Charts? Graphs? What *is* this?_ she thought, growing intrigued despite her . . . unease with the 'catagories'. Focusing on numbers, and the specific categories, she moved slowly toward one of the tables, taking a seat on one of the stools without conscious thought. As she read, both her intellectual interest *and* her horror grew. Her fingers almost itched to put quill to parchment and figure out what it was all for, not only what the numbers themselves meant, but what someone was trying to prove. Who put it together? Were the base numbers accurate, or had they been slanted? Someone was trying--  
  
Her head snapped up at she stared at Professor Snape. "Why did someone gather these numbers?" she asked. *What* they were was obvious, of course, but the why escaped her. Perhaps that was a bit broad. She could think of several reasons 'why', and most of them she didn't like.  
  
"It's an assigned project," he replied unhelpfully, smirking at her knowingly, his look continuing to challenge her.  
  
_Oh, and that *really* helped, Professor, thank you ever so much!_ She shifted uncomfortably on her stool, weighing her options. Obviously she was going to have to ask the 'right' questions if she wanted any information out of him.  
  
She restrained a frustrated growl and squared her shoulders. If he wanted questions, then he was getting questions. Questions were *her* home turf. She started with the one she wanted to know the most. "What is the premise?" she asked. "What is this person trying to prove?"  
  
Professor Snape's expression didn't change much. If anything he looked bored.   
  
She wasn't quite sure why, but Hermione didn't believe it. Professor Snape never *looked* bored. Irritated, impatient, rushed, yes, but never bored. Somehow, she didn't think he was now either. The question she would never ask was, why was he trying to look that way now, and -- okay, so it was two things she would never ask -- why was this so important to him?  
  
"Depends on which one of the 'researchers' you ask," he replied, his tone an odd mixture of disdain and quite possibly amusement.   
  
That confused Hermione. So did his answer, for that matter. She was used to the disdain; he wouldn't be Professor Snape without it. It was the humor she didn't get. Who knew the man had a sense of humor? She certainly hadn't.  
  
"If you asked one--  
  
_Oh, good, he's going to explain._  
  
"--he'd say to prove that muggle and muggle-born influence is *not* a detriment to wizarding existence."  
  
"And the other?"  
  
"The opposite."  
  
"Must be interesting working together then," Hermione retorted drily. Two opposite goals from one set of numbers. One of them was going to be disappointed.  
  
"Indeed," he replied, snorting. "You could say that."  
  
Her suspicions roused, Hermione's eyes narrowed. "Who's project is this," she demanded, "and what does it have to do with me?"  
  
Again the blasted man didn't answer her, deciding to glare instead. "Weasley," he said finally, pausing, "and Malfoy."  
  
Hermione's eyebrows shot up. "Together? Working on *one* project?" Feeling more than a little gobsmacked even *trying* to imagine that being successful, she spoke without thinking. "Who's the idiot that assigned them this kind of thing together?"   
  
  
  
TBC  
Kiristeen  
Feedback: it does an author good. Doesn't hurt the muses either. : )~  
Kiristeen@kiristeen.com  
  
  
  



	20. Chapter Nineteen

  
  
**********  
Chapter Nineteen  
**********  
  
Hermione stepped out of the muggle cab, never so grateful to be home in her entire life. This time yesterday, she'd been absolutely certain she was never going to see the outside of Hogwarts ever again -- not alive anyway. She *still* couldn't believe she'd called Professor Snape an idiot -- even if she had done it inadvertently. She was even more surprised that she'd been out of detention, papers in hand, less than two minutes later.  
  
Her ears had been ringing, but she'd been *free*. She laughed ruefully. Of course, she now had a project that would probably take her most of the break to complete, but then, she always did. So, that wasn't exactly a big change. In fact, it was a huge piece of that thing called normal and she was all for that.  
  
She was, however, going to have to owl the professor. After her rather embarrassing . . . gaffe, she had hightailed it out of his class so fast, she hadn't managed to get some of the specifics she needed. For instance, if her name was going to be included *anywhere* and in *anyway* with this, she was going to need a little longer, because she wasn't going to trust anyone else's research.  
  
She loved Ron dearly, but his research methods usually left something to be desired. And Malfoy? She shuddered involuntarily, but harshly pushed aside the reaction, burying it so deeply it hopefully wouldn't see the light of day for the next decade at least. Malfoy's 'research' she didn't trust not to have a . . . 'slant' to it.  
  
She sighed as she reached the door, bracing herself for her parents reception. If she wasn't going to worry them, tip them off that she wasn't exactly feeling tip top, she couldn't flinch when they went to hug her. She was pretty sure it'd give the game away if she jerked back from her father screaming, "don't touch me!"  
  
Several deep breaths later, she turned the knob and opened the door. "Mum!" she called out. "Dad! I'm home."  
  
**  
  
Sighing in a mixture of trepidation and loathing, Hermione closed the door of her bedroom behind her. The last two weeks had been both the best she'd spent in a long time, and something of a trial. Her parents had not been notified of everything that had happened to her. **Thank God!** Being 'of age' had that benefit, at least. They'd only been told of her 'miraculous' survival and that she'd been hurt badly.  
  
It was *great*, great beyond description, to simply be treated normally. Of course, they did go a little overboard in catering to her, but she supposed it was only understandable. For over 3 months they had thought she was dead. Having her back suddenly, well, she couldn't imagine what it must be like.  
  
Unfortunately, it hadn't been easy, either. Maintaining the front that she was okay, that everything was perfectly normal in front of people who really thought it was, wasn't as easy as she wanted it to be. She jumped at the least unexpected sound, and if either of them touched her before she was aware they were going to do it, she felt like she was going to crawl out of her skin . . . literally.  
  
Her room, her sanctuary from everything and everyone, the place she retreated to when it all became too much, or when she simply wanted to work on the project Professor Snape had given her, wasn't the haven she wanted it to be. Within two days of coming home, she'd begun to have nightmares, horrifically vivid movies of everything she'd been through, usually skewing off into what *could* have happened. She now dreaded going to sleep, and she did it later and later each night spending more and more of her nights working Ron and Malfoy's raw data into some kind of cohesive whole. It became her primary focus, and way of staying awake. But every morning she woke with a scream trapped in her throat, and her body soaked to the sheets in sweat.  
  
As she mechanically prepared for bed, picking up a brush and mindlessly yanking it through the tangles in her hair, a part of Hermione was growing increasingly . . . frustrated. She was growing resentful of the very normality that she had so desperately craved back at Hogwarts. These were her *parents*. They were supposed to love her more than anyone ever would. Why couldn't they tell at a glance that something was wrong?  
  
Weren't they supposed to know all, see all? Oh, she knew parents weren't infallible, at least her head knew that. The little girl deep inside her protested it; she wanted her mother to hold out her arms and wrap that little girl up in her arms and make all the pain and horror go away with a mother's kiss -- just like she used to do.  
  
If she ever became a mother, she'd make sure to pay attent-- Hermione's stomach lurched, her vision briefly going along for the ride.  
  
  
  
~~~~~ "I don't feel well, Mrs. Annetti," she said softly, swallowing quickly. She'd already made one hectic trip to the toilet, she really didn't feel like making another.  
  
Mrs. Annetti chuckled at her sympathetically. "Goes hand in hand with being with child, my dear. It'll pass." ~~~~~  
  
  
  
No! That couldn't be right. That had to be just an image pulled up from the countless nightmares she'd had recently. It would certainly qualify. Her time at the Annetti's had remained quite fuzzy since she'd regained her memories, but surely she wouldn't have forgotten something *that* significant! It was simply impossible. No way.   
  
Her mind stopped listening to her heart, relentlessly going over every moment of the last month, the little clues that had held no meaning and she'd ignored -- the clothes that didn't fit quite right anymore, the little bouts of nausea that she'd had and attributed to stress, the emotionalism that she'd put down to going stir crazy, or maybe just plain crazy.  
  
She was shaking, her legs like rubber. She panted, faster and faster, until she felt like she couldn't draw enough air in. "Nooooooo!" she screamed, the brush in her hand sailing across the room and through the window with a resounding *crash*. Why? Why?  
  
Hermione's thoughts went in useless circles. _Oh, God! I'm going to be sick!_ She whirled around, rushing back to the door. Wrenching it open, she shrieked as she stumbled against her mum, the contents of her stomach violently leaving her as adrenaline shot through her.  
  
"I'm sorry!" Hermione cried, sagging to her knees. "I'm sorry. I swear. I'll never be bad again. This is my punishment. It has to be. I was bad, and I'm being punished. I let him-- I didn't know! I swear I didn't. Why didn't they tell me? Why?"  
  
Hermione babbled hysterically, nothing penetrating the fog that obscured her thoughts until she felt strong fingers grab her chin. "Hermione!" her father shouted, his eyes staring into hers.  
  
"Dad?"  
  
"Why didn't they tell you what?" he asked.  
  
_You've got to make a decision soon._  
  
"Oh . My . God! They all *know*!"  
  
"Know what, dear?" her mother asked gently.  
  
She couldn't move her head to look at her mum, but Hermione could feel her hand rubbing soothing circles on her back. "Why?" she whimpered. "Why?"  
  
Not answering, Hermione drifted. She could hear her parents talking, talking about her as if she wasn't even there. She giggled, causing a sudden, short, silence. She kind of *wasn't* there, really.  
  
"Maybe we should send an owl to that Madam Pomfrey," her mother suggested. "Isn't she the one who was taking care of--"  
  
Hermione's head snapped up as she once more found herself focusing outside herself. "Send an owl to Professor Snape," she growled. "Leave Pomfrey out of it."  
  
"I thought you hated him, dear," her mum protested. "Wouldn't you--"  
  
"Him or no one. He'll tell it straight. Only one I trust." Hermione knew she wasn't making much sense, but right now it was all she was capable of. She wanted nothing more than to rock and fade back inside herself and it was only with great effort that she managed not to do just that.  
  
"Hermione," her father said firmly. "I think we need that Poppy woman to help take care of you."  
  
_They think I'm crazy. I'm not. I'm angry!_ Oh, she was on the edge, she knew that. She was beyond hysterical; she knew that too. But that didn't make her crazy. She didn't want anyone to treat her that way.  
  
"Snape! Father, or NO ONE!" she shouted, rage boiling. "Coddle, coddle, coddle, I don't need to be coddled! That's all she'll do, coddle me and make me sleep. I need the TRUTH! Snape'll do that! He won't baby me. He doesn't treat me different now! He knows, but doesn't treat me different!"  
  
"Send the damned Owl, Richard," her mother snapped.  
  
Hermione almost laughed at her father's weary sigh and his quiet, 'yes, dear.'  
  
"Now. Hermione. *What* exactly do they 'know'?"  
  
"Oh mum!" Hermione exclaimed, the tears finally flowing. "Hold me please."  
  
Her mother's expression melted and she held out her arms. "Of course, sweetie."   
  
Hermione was inside that circle not a second later. "I'm *so* s-sorry, Mum. I let him. I let him."  
  
Her mother's arms trembled around her. "What did he do?" she asked quietly, her whispered words sounding afraid.  
  
"He touched me. He hurt me."  
  
"Oh my God," her mother breathed, her arms tightening around her.  
  
"I'm sorry, Mum. I was--"  
  
"No, no, Hermione, dearest. No. You didn't do anything wrong. It wasn't your fault."  
  
"But it was!" Hermione insisted. "It was! You don't understand."  
  
"Tell me, then, Hermione. Help me understand."  
  
"I wouldn't tell him what he wanted to know."  
  
"This man wanted you to tell him something?"  
  
Hermione nodded tearfully, her face still buried in her mother's shoulder. "He wanted to know a way into Hogwarts. He wanted me to tell him about H-Harry."  
  
"Shhhhh," her mother soothed, rocking her slowly. "You did good, baby. You did good."  
  
The words intended to comfort sent a fresh torrent of tears down her cheeks, and sobs shaking her shoulders. "I-I'm p-pregnant."  
  
"What?!" her mother exclaimed, pulling back in her shock. She immediately tightened her arms again, however, to Hermione's immense relief.  
  
Fear coursed through her. Would they hate her now? She'd let that . . . that . . . *scum* touch her. She'd let him make her . . . dirty and worthless. And now he'd planted himself inside her, growing, taking root!  
  
"We'll figure it out, Hermione," her mother murmured tentatively after several eternally long moments.  
  
It was as if even her mother was lost, as lost as she was. That didn't help. She tightened her already tight grip on her mother and simply held on. She didn't know how long she did so, but was grateful that her mother allowed it to continue. It felt like she'd come home, that maybe, just maybe everything really would be okay.  
  
"Honey?" her mother said softly, "I don't know how to ask this without sounding insulting one way or the other, but. . . ."  
  
Hermione pulled back when her mother's words trailed off, sniffing, and wiping her palms across the tear tracks on her face. "What is it, Mum?" _Please don't make me leave!_  
  
Her mother took a deep breath, her eyes never wavering, despite the uncertainty Hermione could see in them. "Do you want to 'take care of' this?"  
  
Hermione gasped. "Isn't it too late for that?" she asked.  
  
"Indeed it is, Miss Granger," Professor Snape said sternly.  
  
Hermione screamed, leaping to her feet. "You scared the *crap* out of me, Professor!" she snapped.  
  
"Yes," Professor Snape drawled, smirking. "I believe I did at that. I should award points to Slytherin."  
  
Hermione snorted, even as her parents gasped in outrage. Weak chuckles escaped her, sounding -- and feeling -- the weirdest mix of amusement and hysteria she'd *ever* experienced. The comment was just *so* . . . *Snape*.  
  
"One point to Slytherin, Professor Snape," Hermione said, beginning to giggle the moment he snorted sourly.   
  
She'd been assigned as Head Girl this year. She wondered if she still had any privileges. If so, she doubted assigning points to a professor was among them.  
  
"Now see here," Richard Granger began hotly.  
  
"Dad," Hermione interrupted. "Please don't."  
  
Her father, looking completely nonplused subsided. He wasn't happy about it, though.  
  
"You were quite correct a moment ago, *Miss* Granger," Snape sneered. "Your selfish desire to put off the decision--"  
  
"Selfish!?" Hermione screamed, squaring her shoulders, planting her hands firmly on her hips. "How could I make a decision I didn't bloody well know about?!" she demanded angrily. "Huh? Answer me that!"  
  
Professor Snape frowned at her. "What do you mean by that, Miss Granger?" he demanded right back. "Mrs. Annetti assured us that you--"  
  
"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed, stamping her foot in frustration. "And of course *no one* took into account the fact that I'd lost my bloody memory and that I might not *possibly* be just teeny bit *CONFUSED*?"  
  
Professor Snape's glare deepened. "Miss Granger!" he snapped, scowling as fiercely as she'd ever seen him. He continued speaking, but his words faded as she herself ranted.  
  
"You need to *decide*, Miss Granger. There's not much *time*, Miss Granger. Don't worry about anything else, Miss Granger, simply rest, recover and think about what you *need* to do. All that poking, and pushing, and prodding, and not bloody *once* did *anyone* ever say. Miss Granger, are you going to keep or abort the baby Lucius Malfoy forced on you!"  
  
Suddenly her jaw was gripped again, only this time it wasn't done gently. Her mouth was pried open and she tasted that utterly *foul* calming potion again. She swallowed, choking and sputtering, shuddering, hoping she could actually keep it down. As she began to feel it take effect, she listened as Professor Snape offered to spell away the mess Hermione had made across her mother.  
  
Blinking, finding her center balance again, her troubles seeming far less immediate, and world crashing, Hermione watched as Professor Snape spelled away the awful stench.  
  
"I'm sorry, Professor," Hermione mumbled.  
  
Glaring, Professor Snape ignored her apology. "You are telling me no one, not even once mentioned your condition specifically? Not even Poppy in regard to medical care?"  
  
Hermione shook her head, sighing. It didn't seem so important right now, though. "No," she said. "They never said anything directly about *anything*, always trying to be *tactful*, *discreet*," she sneered, imitating her potions Professor's common enough tone almost perfectly. "I finally resorted to getting a bit hysterical every time they tried to get me to 'make a decision'. It seemed so random, like they were trying to force something I had no clue about on me," she confessed quietly.  
  
Her head snapped back up as Professor Snape mumbled something -- no doubt something derogatory -- under his breath.  
  
"We need to return to Hogwarts," he ordered firmly. "I'll wait in the front room." With that, he nodded once and swept away, disappearing down the stairs.  
  
"Yes, Sir," Hermione replied.  
  
  
TBC  
Kiristeen  
Feedback: Muchly appreciated. : )  
Kiristeen@kiristeen.com  
  
AN: Things begin to lighten up a *little* bit from here on, gradually getting better. (mostly -- though no one is completely out of the woods yet.) One thing, if you're looking for a happily ever after with baby makes three, you're going to be disappointed. This story will not end with Hermione 'loving' the child, whatever else happens or doesn't happen.  
  
  
  



	21. Chapter Twenty

AN: Thank you everyone who took the time to review! You're all grade A. : )~   
  
  
**********  
Chapter Twenty  
**********  
  
  
Hermione stared at herself in the mirror above her vanity. She'd stripped and was assessing her body sharply. Now that she *knew*, it was bloody obvious, and she was kicking herself for not having figured it out on her own . . . memory or no memory. Oh, a casual inspection wouldn't reveal anything -- and wizarding robes hid a multitude of sins -- but to her now critical eye, she could see that the curve of her stomach was a little bigger than it should have. When she ran her hand over that slight bulge, it was harder than it normally was.  
  
She let out a giggle as she turned to view her profile, the sound a mixture of amusement and horror. "Be careful what you wish for," she murmured to the air, shivering. She had that visible sign of what she'd endured, one that would soon be *very* visible, one she could have done without. She sighed as she turned away from the mirror. There was a *child* inside her, one she'd never wanted and never planned for. That was bad enough in and of itself. That it was because of the r-- the ordeal she had survived made it worse. Ambivalent, thy name is Hermione Granger's feelings.  
  
What tripped the whole idea right past everything else and straight into surreal was the fact that--  
  
_Oh, God! I can't even think it!_  
  
"Hermione Elizabeth Granger!" she snapped, quickly dressing herself with short, abrupt movements. "Take charge. It's a fact. You want people to treat you like normal, well, then, *be* normal! Deal with this and move *ON*!"  
  
She shivered as she slipped her feet into her shoes, sitting on her bed to tie them. It would be nice if it was as easy as that. Say it; believe it. _In a fairy tale maybe,_ Hermione thought with another sigh.  
  
Fully dressed, feeling a little less vulnerable with the . . . evidence hidden, Hermione faced the mirror once again. "I'm p-pregnant," she said, a frown appearing along at the stutter, "with--" She gulped and forged ahead, lifting her chin. "Lucius Malfoy's child."  
  
_I can't do this!_  
  
Today she was supposed to go down and share what she'd worked out from those numbers with Professor Snape. She hadn't yet worked out why this was so important to him, just that it was. She'd already thought about it quite a bit -- back before her world tilted for the third time -- and she'd come to the conclusion that it was very . . . odd that he'd assigned such a project in the first place. What was a potions professor doing assigning something that would be better for history of magic?   
  
In trying to figure it out, Hermione had managed to spend more and more time in the Hogwarts Dungeon. More specifically, she'd spent a goodly amount of the last week in either the potions classroom, or surprisingly enough, Professor Snape's office. The first two days, after about an hour of both of them working silently, he'd risen from his desk, muttering at her that if she was going to be working on the blasted project in his presence, he, at least, was going to be comfortable, and he had shoo'd her into his office. After that, she'd simply gone there first.  
  
She did have to admit that over the last three weeks she'd grown more and more intrigued by what the numbers represented, and it had been a *really* nice distraction in the week since she'd been back -- despite the subject matter. She laughed to herself. Truth be told, she'd begun to spend almost every waking moment to it, in an effort not to think about anything else. The time spent with Snape, feeling blissfully normal -- no acting required, normal -- had been a side bonus she was grateful for.  
  
What she had worked out on the project so far was . . . surprising. With what she knew about genetics -- not as much as she needed to obviously -- some of it seemed inevitable, tragic, but inevitable. Some of it though, didn't seem right. Relieved of the worry that she would be connected with the conclusions in any way, she hadn't bothered to make sure the initial data was correct; though, she was beginning to wonder if it was. Thankfully, all she was supposed to do is put it all together. She would add a note that she wasn't altogether certain the beginning data was complete, or was possibly inaccurate.  
  
Hermione shook herself. _Way to distract myself,_ she thought sourly. She was just so mixed up about it all. Part of her was angry, furious really, that the *choice* had been taken from her by circumstance and timidity. Another part of her, though, was relieved that she didn't have to *make* that choice, which was confusing as all hell. She'd never have to know what it was like to live with *that* kind of decision. But then, it did mean--  
  
She growled, launching herself toward the door, grabbing the muggle folder she was using to hold the project on her way past. She'd had enough. She didn't want to deal with this now. Laughing bitterly, she slammed the door behind her; it wasn't like she had any time sensitive decisions to make.  
  
By the time she had reached the dungeon level, Hermione had managed to turn her thoughts to other subjects -- sort of. She had told Ron the day Professor Snape had brought her back from her parents. Turns out, he'd already figured out part of it. That had been something of a shock to her. She loved Ron dearly but had never really thought of him as overly perceptive. She was looking at him with different eyes now.  
  
Of course, when she'd finished telling him everything, he reverted to the Ron she'd always known and promptly put his foot in his mouth. Oh, he'd been properly sympathetic and horrified, of course, but about 20 seconds into his 'sympathizing' he'd gasped out, "bloody hell! I wonder what Draco's going to think?"  
  
Hermione had gasped, insulted and outraged . . . for all of about five seconds. Then she'd laughed. She'd laughed so hard tears poured down her face. The look on his face when he'd realized what he'd burst out with was absolutely priceless, and definitely worth the momentary twinge of hurt. He'd sounded just like Hagrid when, hand over his mouth, he'd said, "I shouldn't have said that." That had just made her laugh harder.  
  
Harry, now that was another problem altogether. He felt so damned guilty. He hadn't said that precisely, of course. But he kept apologizing, telling her he should have looked harder, shouldn't have believed she was dead. He should have known.  
  
She kept telling him that it wasn't his fault, but he kept withdrawing into himself. Hermione didn't know what she was going to do about that. She'd asked Ron already, and he agreed that Harry hadn't been himself. He'd started pulling away just before Hermione had come back. He was positive that Harry knew something they didn't, and wasn't talking about it. Hermione was pretty sure he was right, but didn't know how to go about getting this new Harry to talk. He was so different now. Not outwardly angry, just quiet, really quiet.  
  
She sighed as she approached Professor Snape's office door, thrusting the problem of Harry to the side for the moment. She giggled as her mind drifted back to the day she'd told Ron again.  
  
"So, what's with you and *Draco*," she had asked, smirking, ignoring the tight knot of fear she felt even mentioning anyone from *that* family.  
  
Ron had blushed about six shades of red and spent a good two minutes stammering before managing to tell her, "nothing!"  
  
Needless to say, she hadn't believed him. She did wonder what had happened that the two of them could be civil, let alone anything closer. He hadn't been ready to tell her that day, and she certainly hadn't been ready to listen, but she swore to herself that soon, she would pull Ron aside and get him to spill. Draco hadn't done anything to her -- well, beyond being an arrogant, bullying, prat throughout school -- and Hermione was determined not to let the arsehole who'd hurt her, make her live her life in fear. She wouldn't let him dictate her actions even after he was dead. She was not going to let him win that way.  
  
Swinging back up into anger again, Hermione slammed the office door behind her as she entered Professor Snape's domain, stomping toward his desk. Throwing herself into the only spare chair, she remained silent, waiting for Snape to say something, anything, rather than just glare at her.  
  
"Student manners beneath you now?" he snarled lowly.  
  
"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed, a false sweetness coating her words. "Forgive me, Professor Snape. Whatever was I thinking. Good evening, Professor Snape. Are you busy Professor Snape? I've brought that report you wished to discuss, but I could come back later, since your time is *so* precious, and mine as a lowly student is absolutely worthless," she retorted, the saccharine in her voice turning viciously bitter by the last word.  
  
"Oh, and are we in a *mood* today?" Professor Snape asked smoothly, the quiet even tenor of his voice fooling no one.  
  
"Yes, *we* are in a mood today," Hermione snapped back, not really caring that was quite likely inciting her stern potions professor into what could be a truly impressive rage. "We're a matching bloody set, we are."  
  
Professor Snape snorted in response, and then did something Hermione would never have expected. He laughed. It was a short, strangled sound, stopped almost as soon as it began, but it was a laugh none-the-less. His expression turned sour immediately after, and Hermione could have almost doubted it had happened at all, -- if it hadn't been the touch of disbelief she could see in his face.  
  
"Well?" Professor Snape demanded. "Show me the report."  
  
Shaking her head, Hermione held out the folder. "The permutations are--" She hesitated as the folder was pulled from her hand. "--surprising."  
  
Snape just arched an eyebrow at her in disdain. "For you, perhaps," he sneered.  
  
"No," Hermione replied smugly, for once not even trying to control how she sounded. "I think you'll find it surprising too, unless, of course, you've already gone over the data."  
  
His eyes narrowed as he opened the folder.  
  
"I'd suspect that the numbers were slanted," she continued, watching the professor closely, "if it wasn't for the fact that--"  
  
" *Weasley* was involved in documenting them?" Snape sneered at her, taking his attention from the report. The condescension in his voice was thicker than she could remember it being in since the middle of 5th year.  
  
"Actually," she drawled back, amused at his assumption. _Okay, the seesaw ride of emotions can stop anytime now,_ she thought in exasperation. "I was going to say Malfoy," she continued, "but have it your way."  
  
"What?" he demanded, his head snapping back down to stare at the report as if it had suddenly become coated with poison. Quickly turning over the cover page, he glared as he read.  
  
Hermione waited patiently -- well, semi-patiently -- watching the myriad of reactions flow over the normally well controlled face. She knew the exact moment he put it all together.  
  
His head snapped up and while his habitual sneer was gone, his glare was deeper than ever. "Are you sure about these computations?" he demanded abruptly.  
  
"As sure as I can be since I didn't gather the original data," Hermione replied.  
  
"Don't be deliberately obtuse!"  
  
Hermione sighed, and rephrased. "The computations themselves are accurate. I triple checked them. As long as the original data is accurate, the final findings are accurate."  
  
Professor Snape groaned. "This is not going to go over well," he murmured.  
  
Hermione was sure the words had not been directed at her, but she let out a snort of laughter despite that. She received a dire glare for her trouble. "That's the most outrageous understatement I've ever heard, Professor," she explained.  
  
  
TBC  
Kiristeen  
Feedback: Craved and muchly appreciated. : )  
Kiristeen@kiristeen.com  
  
  



	22. Chapter Twenty one

AN: In the part where Hermione begins speaking about genetics, I won't necessarily be using all the 'proper' medical terms.  
  
There are several reasons for this, the first being the fact that it's been about 20 years since I studied it myself. I don't think, however, that Hermione's knowledge in this area would be much beyond the basics. If I did, I would go look it all up. : ) The idea behind the explanation she gives is sound, just not very technical, and might have the wrong terms used.  
  
As fascinating as I found genetics when I studied it, what stuck with me were the principles and the ideas, rather than specific terms for what goes into making what in regards to DNA, and RNA etc. The principle behind dominate vs recessive genes in regards to inheriting traits is valid, as is the fact that ones carried on the x chromosome, if recessive, tend to occur in males more often than females, due to the lack of a counteracting second x chromosome, which might carry a dominate gene to override the recessive one, or another differing recessive to mitigate.  
  
Hope that didn't bore anyone too much. ;-) And I just hope to high hope that the chapter itself isn't boring or confusing. LOL  
  
**********  
Chapter Twenty one  
**********  
  
Ron raced around the dorm room grabbing last minute belongings that he didn't want to leave behind for two weeks. He'd put it off, as usual, until the last minute. Of course, the fact that Draco had been behaving like a complete prat for the last couple days was *not* helping. Ron, much as he had been surprised by the growing evidence from their report, was trying to be understanding of Draco's point of view. It wasn't easy, considering he'd already thought the pureblood's point of view was ridiculous to start with. Draco wasn't making it any easier, sulking like a two year old who'd been told they couldn't have another cookie.  
  
Suddenly feeling utterly exhausted, Ron dropped back onto his bed and threw an arm over his eyes. Their slowly emerging conclusions were rather startling, even to him. It was looking as if muggle influence waned completely by third generation removal. Which, of course, was completely contradictory to everything Draco had ever been taught. He supposed, if he really thought about it, he could sort of understand Draco's put out reaction. It would be hard to have something you believed in completely turned upside down.  
  
The biggest problem wasn't that, however. Draco could probably have lived with that. Even before this bloody project, Draco had admitted to at *least* considering witches with muggle heritage three generations back. He'd been adamant about anything less than that. Ron was sure the blond's father would be livid at even that, would probably have become a ghost if he'd realized his son might go that route. What Ron really thought was bothering Draco -- contrary to the Slytherin's sullen complaints -- was not the waning muggle influence, but instead, the rather stark evidence that the older pureblood families were destined to weed themselves out of existence if they actually stayed pureblood.  
  
Oh, it wouldn't happen in the next few years, but even Ron could see, with the alarming rise in birth defects, and stillborns, as well as a slow but steady rise in the number of squibs born to pureblood lines, it would happen eventually. According to the data they'd gathered, the squibs, of course could end up with full wizards or witches as children, but it was a certainly lower chance than witches or wizards having them, and didn't eliminate the other pureblood problems. Of course, the fact that squibs were viewed with as much disdain -- in general -- as muggles were, certainly wasn't going to help. Most, if they married at all, ended up with muggles or other squibs, or so the data seemed to indicate.  
  
Ron's head spun with facts and figures. This wasn't his best area; he was the first to admit that. Numbers and him just didn't get along real well. He sat up abruptly, not wanting to think about it anymore. In their research, he'd discovered, much to his dismay, that his own family was not exempt from what he was beginning to refer to as the pureblood dilemma, and it had come as something of a profound shock to realize that his own mother had miscarried several times over the years. It was a terrifying thought, really. He hadn't given much thought, before, to his own future, about whether he would have children.  
  
He snorted. Of course, he hadn't. He was a boy, and a teenager. What teenage boy thought about those kinds of things?  
  
//Draco Malfoy.//  
  
He shook his head. Now that he did, he realized it had pretty much been a given that it would happen eventually. Now, however, he wasn't so sure he wanted to go through that. The very thought that any child he might actually make wouldn't have even the chance to survive that an ordinary muggle one did, was . . . horrifying.  
  
**  
  
"One thing I found most informative," Miss Granger continued excitedly, apparently clueless to just how horrified he was about the subject matter. This was their second meeting to discuss her calculations, and he wasn't liking what was being revealed any more this time around, "was the apparent fact that over 80 percent of squibs are male."  
  
Severus frowned. That hadn't been part of the assigned project, and he hadn't taken any notice of it. "And why," he managed to ask, in something approaching his normal demeanor, "is that so informative?"  
  
"Because that indicates a high probability that what ever causes someone to be magical is a dominate gene, carried on the X chromosome, or conversely that what ever causes someone to be a squid is recessive, also carried on the x chromosome.  
  
Severus suddenly felt like a first year, listening to his first transfiguration professor -- lost. "Explain," he said bluntly, not remotely liking the fact that he had to in the first place. "Preferably using non-muggle terms."  
  
"Oh!" Granger exclaimed, looking up at him in surprise. Pulling her lower lip between her teeth, she hesitated, obviously uncertain. "Um, well, it's kind of complicated."  
  
Eyes narrowing, Severus' jaw clenched. "I assure Miss Granger, anything *you* are capable of understanding will not be beyond *my* capabilities."  
  
"That's not what I meant!" Granger snapped, eyes flashing angrily. "Genetics is a study that many put *years* into. I wasn't inferring a damn thing about *either* of our intelligence! Beyond that, my knowledge is of the basics." A moment passed, while Severus waited, glaring, before she continued, pulling out parchment and quill.  
  
She immediately began making odd squiggles and speaking of DNA, genes and other things too small to see, her words flowing fast and freely.  
  
"Oh," Granger said suddenly, her quill stopping as she looked at him.  
  
"What?" he demanded shaking his head as he tried to clear it of unfamiliar terms, and confusing thoughts about how difficult it would be to study something you couldn't actually *see*. He didn't see how it was possible. He thought about saying as much.  
  
"Your eyes kind of glazed over," she said dejectedly. "That means that either I'm boring you out of your mind, or I'm being obscure again."  
  
Severus didn't believe it, but he laughed. He couldn't remember *ever* laughing when he felt like such an idiot. "I take it you get that a lot?" he asked, turning it back onto her in habitual defense. He almost winced as she did.  
  
"Yes," she sighed. "Harry and Ron, they do it every time I start explaining school work at all."  
  
Fighting with conflicting desires, self-protection versus an equally strong desire to *know*, Severus shook his head -- purposely ignoring the rather insulting comparison to her two male compatriots. "As much as I would like to claim the former, for my own defence, I'm forced to admit that I only understood about half of what you said."  
  
Granger looked crestfallen.  
  
"While I find it difficult to relate to 'DNA strands' smaller than the eye can see making up everything, including people, I'm willing to take it on conjecture, for now." Taking a deep breath, Severus said something he *never* ever thought he'd say, especially to a *student*. "For now, is there a way you can relate all this muggle information to something wizarding?" his tone sharper than he'd intended. He *really* did not like appearing ignorant, even if it *was* in regard to some obscure muggle science.  
  
Granger grinned suddenly. "That's it!" She scrambled for a new sheet of Parchment.  
  
Eyeing her warily, Severus leaned forward to watch what she was writing. "Okay, compare DNA to a potion, and the magical affect of the potion to human beings. Genes are the 'ingredients' to DNA. Chromosomes are the way the genes are put together to form the DNA. Separately, they don't really mean that much. Put them together in the correct sequence, and you have DNA that results in the 'magical affect' of a human being. Just as different ingredients change the composition of the final potion and ultimately its affect, so different Genes change the composition of DNA and ultimately affect the final product . . . in this specific case a human being, whether wizard or muggle."  
  
Severus nodded. Put that way, it made eminent sense, quite logical -- without the need to know obscure terms from a field of study that sounded as bloody complex as potions. Something, as Granger herself admitted, a person could spend *years* studying before finally beginning to truly understand it.  
  
"Now, when it comes to the sex of a child, a very specific chromosome determines it. The DNA strand from each parent, the egg and sperm, have 23 chromosomes, half of a full DNA strand. Like two halves to a prepared potion that you have to put the two vials together to achieve the final affect. Each chromosome can have literally thousands of different ingredients, ie genes, to make it up. The very last set determine sex -- among other things. An egg *always* carries what's called the X chromosome which is female. The sperm can carry either that same X, or a Y. Put an X and an X together, you get a girl. Put an X and a Y together, you get a boy."  
  
It was quite fascinating really, something else that Severus never thought he'd admit, being fascinated by something a student was 'lecturing' about. He smirked, wondering briefly if he should allude to that now. He decided against it when he realized it would probably throw Granger into a fit, and he would be treated to stammers instead of an relatively smooth, if excited, recital.  
  
"So," he said instead, confirming for both of them that he was indeed following what she was saying. "It is the father that determines the sex of the child."  
  
Hermione nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, exactly. Now, when information about that child is carried on the final chromosome, it would tend to occur more often in males if carried on the X and the gene were recessive."  
  
"Recessive?" Severus asked, the term itself seemed self explanatory, but it was the first time she'd used it, and he wanted to be sure he understood it in context.  
  
Again Hermione nodded. "If a gene is recessive, it requires that the same trait be given from both parents in order to show up in the child, or not have an opposing one going against it. If a gene is dominant, it requires only one of the parents to pass it on, though that child might still carry the ability to pass on a 'hidden' recessive gene to their children even if they only get one recessive gene from one of their parents."  
  
"Go on."  
  
"Now for the crux of the matter. If magical ability is carried on the X chromosome, females have two chances to inherit the ability, males only one -- assuming that gene is dominant. If that dominant gene is absent in the X chromosome the mother supplies to the child, you end up with a squib if it's a male child. If it's a girl child then there would be the chance of the father passing down the gene. Of course, if the magical gene isn't dominant, or the one present in squibs isn't recessive, the ratio of squib occurrences in males and females would be closer, which means the whole theory falls apart."  
  
"So this entire, rather complex theory is based on one of two rather iffy suppositions?" he asked in astonishment.  
  
"Yes, Professor, but one based on visible evidence."  
  
Before Severus could figure out a less then utterly scathing response, Granger's eyes lit up in what could only be described as shock mixed with her usual excitability. "What have you thought of now?" he asked warily.  
  
"I just realized something rather, um, shocking."  
  
"Well, what is it?" he demanded, growling at the delay tactic.  
  
"Well, if the theory is right, at least about Magical ability being linked to the x chromosome, it means that a wizarding father *can't* pass down magical ability to a son. It would be solely up to the mother's genes. Kind of like the reverse of the father being the one to determine sex, similar anyway."  
  
It took Severus several moments to actually process her words, let alone their meaning, and after that, it took a few more to form any kind of response. "That's . . . amazing, Miss Granger," he said carefully, pausing before saying more. "You would do well not to mention that theory to anyone." The uproar that little tidbit would cause, even without proof, would almost certainly put Miss Granger's life in danger, as well as anyone else that was involved in the project. It would most certainly add to the pureblood mania. He shuddered to think of the implications. If correct, it meant that a pureblood wizard who married a muggle, would be virtually guaranteed any sons he had would be squibs. The only chance would be whatever allowed for muggle-born. Speaking of--  
  
"So how does this account for muggle-born?"  
  
Granger sighed. "It doesn't. The only thing in genetics that *can*, is the presence of wizarding ancestry far enough back it's been forgotten -- which if the theory still holds, still leaves out male muggle-born -- or spontaneous genetic mutation."  
  
Severus smirked, but had only opened his mouth when Granger cut him off.  
  
"Don't even think it, Professor. That's beneath even you!" she retorted, sounding angry, but looking faintly amused.  
  
He watched her wryly. "Even me?" he asked, his voice dry.  
  
Granger ducked her head, but not before he saw the blush begin, and a sheepish expression cross her face. As soon as it had come, however, it was gone, and the girl plowed ahead, apparently very willing to simply ignore the gaffe she'd made.  
  
Severus wasn't so sure he was. Never the less, he held his tongue, in favor of a sneak attack at a later time. Besides, he had a better question to ask. If he understood the theory. . . .  
  
"What if what causes magical ability was a recessive gene, carried on the x?" he asked. If he understood the theory, as Miss Granger had related it, that *should* cover more of the bases . . . including allowing for male muggleborn.  
  
Granger jerked her head up to look at him, her expression thoroughly surprised. Pulling her lip between her teeth, she frowned thoughtfully. "That might work also," she replied thoughtfully, then almost immediately shook her head. "That accounts well for the ratio of male to female squibs, allows for male muggleborn more readily, but there isn't a high enough ratio of squibs born to account for that possibility -- I don't think."  
  
"It seems, Miss Granger, that perhaps your 'genetics' theories might not be enough to explain it all."  
  
"More than possible, Professor," Granger easily admitted, though she frowned as she spoke. "To prove or disprove it, someone more knowledgeable than me in genetics would have to make a study of it." She shrugged. "Aside from that, the numbers themselves are pretty much self-explanatory."  
  
"Indeed, and none the less incendiary for that."  
  
"Yeah," she mumbled. "I can see where it might, rock a few boats."  
  
"Rock a few boats?" Severus exclaimed hotly, forcibly reminded of just how badly this was going to be taken by the wizarding community at large -- assuming he let it get out. Grabbing up the project report that had suddenly become poison, he shook it to emphasize his point. "Miss Granger! This will do more than 'rock a few boats'."  
  
"I know," she replied, her quiet admission quite robbing him of his wind.  
  
Hmmphing in irritation -- he'd been quite looking forward to that rant -- he sat back down.  
  
"Even without my amatuer supposition about 'why'," she continued just as quietly, "the facts are going to piss people off, because they're going to be scared."  
  
"Precisely, Miss Granger."  
  
"So why *did* you assign this project?"  
  
His normal response to such a question would have been to tell the asker it was none of their bloody business. He was quite surprised to find that it only occurred to him in passing this time. He paused a moment and related the conversation he'd heard between Weasley and Malfoy, surprising himself even further, by mentioning his own thoughts on the matter.  
  
She listened silently, her facial expressions ranging from outrage at Mr. Malfoy's rather cold-blooded assessments, to sympathy when she realized just how badly damaged the wizarding world had been by the conflict with Voldemort, to outright shock when he admitted his own beliefs had been just as baseless as Mr. Malfoy's had been.  
  
"You assigned it because you didn't like not knowing," she breathed in understanding.  
  
He tried to take exception to the comment, but couldn't. That had, in fact, been part of the reason. "Partially," he admitted. "I had a choice, do it myself and forgo the research I normally do during school breaks, or assign it to them and have *all* three of us learn something."  
  
"Brilliant," Granger praised.  
  
Torn between outrage at her cheek, and startling pleasure at the unreserved compliment, Severus had to fight a smile.  
  
TBC  
Kiristeen  
Feedback: It's the bomb! : )~  
Kiristeen@kiristeen.com  
  



	23. Chapter TwentyTwo

  
Chapter Twenty Two  
  
Patiently, but far from calm, Draco shifted his weight nervously from foot to foot while awaiting the arrival of the Hogwarts Express. He was having some rather _serious_ second thoughts about how good an idea it was to spend the last two weeks of winter break at the burrow -- not that he'd _ever_ thought it was actually a _good_ idea. If it hadn't been for Professor Snape's bloody winter break assignment, he wouldn't be going in the first place.  
  
He shifted his gaze to include Ron Weasley, talking animatedly with Harry Bloody Potter. The Gryffindor had been withdrawn and quiet for so long this year that it seemed almost strange to see the dark-haired git smiling and babbling happily with Ron. Standing here now, listening to the two of them talk, Draco felt distinctly like an outsider looking in -- a sensation he used to be used to. Now, though, it left him feeling quite discontent.  
  
And that was another thing. What the hell was happening between him and Ron Weasley anyway? That wasn't something he liked to think about most of the time, mainly because it didn't make any sense to him. That day by the lake had been unexpected, wholely unplanned, and had left him confused.  
  
He wasn't attracted to guys, never had been. Hell, it wasn't even something he was comfortable with in other people. Something in a long list of things, he mused uncomfortably. Unfortunately, this wasn't exactly a new topic of thought for him recently, despite everything else he'd had to contend with. It just wasn't one he'd been willing to dwell on for long. In fact, he would rather not think about it at all.  
  
Nothing like that day at the lake had ever happened again, which was something that raised very mixed feelings. Mostly he was glad. As a one off, he could put it down to the incredible stress of the day and forget it ever happened. Unfortunately, not all of him felt the same way. Part of him was disappointed that it hadn't happened again, very disappointed. He could mostly shove that part of himself down what with everything else, but sometimes, like right now, it would spring up and take him by surprise.  
  
He almost growled. Most of the time, it seemed as though Ron -- shockingly enough -- was becoming the first true friend Draco had ever had. Sometimes, though, when Ron moved just right, or when their eyes met for just a little too long during a lull in conversation, Draco's gut twisted, and his heart sped up.  
  
Those were things he associated with pretty girls, not with freckle faced boys. He was losing his mind, that's all there was to it. This year had obviously just been too much for him.  
  
"Ron," he began hesitantly -- _Get a grip! You're a Malfoy!_ -- "maybe this isn't such a good idea."  
  
Ron broke off mid-sentence and turned toward him, looking very puzzled.  
  
It didn't help Draco's presence of mind that Harry's rather intense gaze was also now locked on him.  
  
"What isn't?" Ron asked, frowning slightly.  
  
Resolutely ignoring Potter, Draco spoke only to Ron. "Me, going to your place. It--"  
  
"Chickening out, Malfoy?" Potter chimed in.  
  
"Of course not!" Draco snapped angrily, snapping his head around to glare at the interfering busybody.  
  
Potter shrugged, smirking. "Seems like it to me, but then, I always knew Slytherin's were cowards."  
  
Hands automatically clenching into fists, Draco forced himself not to react to the taunt. It wasn't easy, though, he hadn't exactly spent much of his time honing his ability to take insults. As a Malfoy it wasn't something he'd ever had to put up with -- at least not silently.  
  
"We can finish working on the project via owl," he continued, still maintaining his front of ignoring Potter. "It'll be a little more difficult, but we can do it." Draco frowned when Ron just kept staring at him, not answering. He fought against fidgeting under the odd stare.  
  
"Are you finished?" Ron asked, folding his arms across his chest.  
  
Draco's frown deepened. "Yes," he drawled sarcastically. "I stopped speaking didn't I?"  
  
Ron snorted, shaking his head. "That doesn't necessarily mean anything with you -- Hermione, either, for that matter."  
  
Draco glared. The red-headed prat had taken to comparing the oddest things about him to _Granger_, and it was thoroughly irksome. It wasn't as if Draco thoughts didn't dwell on the bushy-haired witch all too often as of late without Ron's asinine comparisons. "Your point?" he demanded snidely, not even wanting to rehash _that_ old argument.  
  
Potter laughed, but Draco ignored the outburst -- well, mostly.  
  
"You're not getting out of this, Draco," Ron told him pointedly. "We can't finish it in time by owl, and you know it; it's much too complicated for that -- even if we don't have _that_ much left to do. So, why don't you tell me what's really bothering you?"  
  
Draco sighed. He did know it, and that was the problem, because it meant he had to go -- whether he felt comfortable with it or not. He swallowed and nodded, his lips twisting up into a rough imitation of his usual smirk. "Fine," he replied, "I'll go."  
  
"Oh, goody," Potter drawled.  
  
"Would you two stop it!" Ron snapped, glaring at both of them equally. "I hate it that you two keep putting me in the middle!"  
  
Despite his unease, Draco felt the corners of his mouth twitch upward. "Kinky!" he retorted before his mind could engage. _When will I learn to keep my mouth shut!_ he whined silently. He _so_ did not want Ron reminded of certain . . . events. No, he really did not.  
  
"Ewwwww!" Potter retorted with a dramatic shudder. "In your dreams, Malfoy!"  
  
_Oh, yeah._ Draco's jaw dropped, not at Potter's pathetic attempt at humor, but at his own thought. _Since when?_  
  
Ron, on the other hand, rolled his eyes, and smacked the both of them.  
  
The double, indignant, 'hey!', from him and Potter sounded at the same time and had them both instantly back to glaring at each other. He still felt like launching himself at Potter half the time -- that or hexing him until he couldn't stand. Unfortunately, that would be a quick way to lose Ron's friendship.  
  
And why do you care so much about that? Hmmm?  
  
Sod off!  
  
Ron laughed, the sound coinciding with the train's whistle. Swinging an arm across Draco's shoulder, and subsequently one around Potter's, Ron pulled them in its direction. "Come on you two. The train's here, and my mum's cooking is waiting for us."  
  
Shrugging off Ron's arm, Draco strode forward, gut tingling, heart racing. _This can't be happening!_ he thought fervently. _I did __not_ just get excited by Ron _Weasley_ touching me! Struggling with his internal debate, Draco didn't see the confused, slightly hurt expression flitter across Ron's face, nor did he see the knowing smirk grow on Potter's.  
  
It didn't take them long to get settled into an empty compartment. Draco, somehow the last one in, was surprised to discover that Ron and Potter had taken opposite sides. He hesitated only briefly before choosing to sit beside Ron. However confused he was, he wasn't going to let it make him sit beside Potter if he had any choice in the matter.  
  
He made sure to sit as far away as the bench seat would allow, without it looking like he was doing just that. Unfortunately, the look Ron gave him made him think that maybe he hadn't been as subtle as he would have liked.  
  
He sighed. Just his luck. That mystical thing called subtlety his house was so renowned for, that _he_ had gotten pretty good at, seemed to be a thing of the past. If he was going to survive this trip, his secret intact, he was going to have to work to get it back -- and quick. Somehow, he didn't think there would be much privacy at 'the burrow' if Ron was right about _everyone_ being there. In fact, Draco wasn't absolutely certain he'd survive the experience -- two weeks surrounded by an entire _flock_ of Weasleys. It was a rather frightening thought, actually.  
  
Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Draco finally tuned into the conversation between Harry and Ron, though his eyes drifted -- of their own bloody volition straight to Ron Weasley.  
  
"So, everyone's going to be there, then?" Harry asked.  
  
Ron nodded, grinning. "It's going to be a madhouse, Harry."  
  
Draco almost winced. He could picture it, actually. At minimum there were going to be the six Weasley brats, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Potter, and himself. From what he'd heard, 'the burrow' wasn't that big. They'd be tripping all over each other.  
  
"Mum even nagged Percy into showing with Penelope."  
  
Harry's eyes widened -- though, Draco didn't understand why that was so surprising to the Gryffindor. " _Percy_ is taking time off work?" he exclaimed. "The _whole_ two weeks?"  
  
Chuckling, Ron shook his head. "Nah. Not even Mum on a tear could get that much out of him. They're only going to be at the burrow for a week."  
  
"What about Bill? Is he bringing anyone?"  
  
Ron's grin morphed into a mischievous smirk, one that Draco wasn't quite sure how to take. He'd never seen the red-head look that way before. "Yeah, he is. Mum doesn't know though, so it's bound to be . . . um . . . interesting."  
  
Draco snorted. "Rude is more like it," he replied automatically. If _he_ had decided to bring someone home without letting his parents know they were going to have guests, he'd have heard about it for weeks afterward -- felt it too, for that matter. Suddenly finding himself the target of two puzzled stares, Draco shifted uncomfortably. "It isn't good manners to bring someone home without notice," he explained stiffly.  
  
"Oh!" Ron replied, shaking his head, that disconcerting smirk becoming more pronounced. "She knows he's bringing someone."  
  
Frowning, Draco glared. "So what was all that, 'Mum, doesn't know,' shite, then?" he demanded.  
  
Leaning closer, Ron dropped his voice to an amused whisper. "She thinks he's bringing home a girlfriend," he confided.  
  
Sighing, Draco forced himself not to back up. "I take it she's not actually a girlfriend," he drawled. _What the bloody hell is so funny about that?_  
  
"She's not actually a _she_, Malfoy," Potter explained, laughing.  
  
Darting a startled look at his one time nemesis, Draco's eyes widened as he jerked his head back to look to Ron for confirmation.  
  
Ron nodded, laughing along with Potter. "It's his way of coming clean, least that's what he claimed."  
  
It took only a moment for everything to click into place, and Draco gasped, his jaw dropping. "Well, that's just plain rude!" he exclaimed before, in his shock, he could censor the words.  
  
Both Potter and Ron gaped at him before breaking out into loud bursts of uncontrolled laughter.  
  
"What?" he demanded disgruntled when they didn't quit after a full minute or more had passed.  
  
"S-Sorry," Ron stammered between rounds of laughter that had dissolved nearly to giggles.  
  
Draco glared at him sourly.  
  
"I-It's just t-that . . . you . . . talking about . . . being _rude_."  
  
"What do you mean?" Draco demanded, his glare hardening. "I am _very_ well mannered!"  
  
That sent Potter off into another idiotic paroxysm of laughter.  
  
Draco simply rolled his eyes and returned his attention back to Ron, who, to his surprise, was looking at him completely puzzled.  
  
"You call all those taunts and foul names, 'well mannered'?" he asked.  
  
Draco started to huff up, but realized suddenly that Ron's question held not disdain, but honest curiosity. "Of course not, but there is a big difference between how someone treats their adversaries and their families." He frowned. "At least there _should_ be."  
  
"T-thank you, Malfoy," Potter gasped, between great gulps of air as he tried to catch his breath.  
  
Turning, surprised, toward Potter, Draco snorted. "Just what for, may I ask?" he retorted sourly. Being thanked by Potter was definitely a new experience, especially since he didn't know what the bloody hell it was for.  
  
"I needed that. I haven't had a good laugh since. . . ." his voice trailed off, his expression suddenly turning pensive, but both Draco and Ron knew exactly what he'd referred to.  
  
A shuddering sigh escaped him, but despite it, he felt the corners of his mouth twitch upward. "Yeah, well, just don't let it happen again," he retorted, wondering just when being laughed at had gone from being the worst thing that could happen to him, to something that made a tiny little spark of pleasure curl inside his chest. Odd that, really.  
  
When Draco looked back at Ron, he was surprised to see an expression he couldn't quite decipher on the red-head's face. It was gone before he really had a chance to try, though, Ron quickly picking up the bookbag that held their project.  
  
"Maybe we should get some work done on this," Ron suggested.  
  
"What?" Potter asked, eyebrow raised.  
  
"Well," Ron said, looking supremely uncomfortable, "I just thought, get some of it out of the way."  
  
Potter's jaw dropped, gobsmacked.  
  
Draco chuckled at the expression, wishing only that he'd been the one to induce it.  
  
"What?" Ron exclaimed. "That way there's less to do at home. I hate working on stuff there."  
  
Then Potter laughed again, the sound of his voice mixing oddly with Draco's. "Hermione would be proud, Ron," Potter said softly.  
  
He didn't know why he'd laughed. It hadn't been funny, really; rather Potter words sounded like Hermione was dead or something. That bothered him; though he wasn't any more sure of why that was either.  
  
Ron blushed and shrugged. "Except for the separate essays we each have to write, which aren't due until two weeks _after_ school starts back up, we're almost done really.  
  
"Can I see it?" Potter asked.  
  
Ron looked up, startled. "Sure," he replied with another shrug, handing Potter the unfinished report.  
  
Draco grew bored as Potter read through it -- several times if Draco was any judge -- and turned his attention toward the window. Ron wasn't going to want to work on it right now, anyway. He was too busy getting antsy about Potter's reaction. As if the other Gryffindor's opinion actually mattered.  
  
"Okay," Potter said suddenly, "I'm not even going to try to pretend I understand most of it, but is it really as bad as it looks?"  
  
Draco jerked his attention from the window, nodding, his movement echoing Ron's.  
  
"Yeah," Ron replied aloud. "The 'good' numbers seem to cap out at 7 generations of no muggle influence. After that, dead babies, birth defects, lower number of pregnancies all start to rise."  
  
Frowning, Potter actually looked thoughtful a moment before speaking. "How many generations back can the Weasleys trace as pureblood?" he asked.  
  
Ron shifted uneasily. "About 15 for sure, before that, no one knows."  
  
"Then how come your family doesn't seem affected by this?"  
  
"Mum's had a lot of miscarriages," Ron murmured softly, his voice a touch hoarse. "I didn't even know about 'em until we started digging for this report."  
  
Potter winced. "Ouch, sorry."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
It had been quite a shock to Ron, which Draco hadn't really understood. He'd known about his mother's miscarriages. Heard about them ad nauseum in rants about how lucky he should feel to be alive and who he was.  
  
Potter looked at him then. "The Malfoys?" he asked.  
  
Draco glared warily a moment before replying. "Fifteen on record at the Ministry of Magic -- that's when automatic magical birth registration began -- and another 10 before that in the family records."  
  
Potter whistled. "That's quite a bit of ancestry."  
  
Draco frowned, thinking back over the data he'd researched. He didn't remember the Potter's information -- though he knew they were an old family. "What about the Potter's?" he asked suddenly. "Before you, I mean. I know they're an old wizarding family. According to my father there was a big scandal when James Potter married your mother."  
  
Potter shrugged. "I don't know. I never have known much about my family. There's no one around to tell me."  
  
"Twelve generations," Ron said. "Until your dad married your mum."  
  
"My dad was a 12th generation pureblood?"  
  
Ron nodded.  
  
Draco tuned the two out. He wasn't comfortable at all with this report. While part of him wanted to deny the conclusions he couldn't help but form, the logical part of him knew they were true. Even without the blasted report he'd known that true purebloods were in the vast minority these days.  
  
Now, he was faced with the fact that even if he did find a pureblood witch to marry, they might not even be able to have an heir. If both sides of the equation were 10 generations pure, stillborns occurred more often than live babies, and of the ones that lived, birth defects cut down the number of acceptable heirs. And that was all assuming the couple could even conceive in the first place.  
  
According to the records, at least 10% of the currently married purebloods hadn't been able to at all. He was tempted to just close his eyes and sleep. He really didn't want to think about this any more -- at least not today.  
  
A hand on his shoulder startled Draco out of his thoughts. He jerked away from staring out the window to find Ron standing right next to him, looking at him worriedly. Casting a quick glance around the compartment, he was surprised to find it empty but for the two of them.  
  
"Where'd Potter go?"  
  
Ron shrugged, sitting down right next to him. "He said he needed to take a walk. You okay?"  
  
"I'm fine, Weasley," Draco replied with a sigh.  
  
"Good," Ron replied, letting his hand fall from Draco's shoulder, his fingertips, trailing down Draco's arm in the process. "I wouldn't want all this to get you down."  
  
Draco's breath hitched, his head jerking up as he locked gazes with Ron. Had it just gotten _awfully_ warm in the compartment? Why was this happening? It shouldn't be. He was a Malfoy with a duty.  
  
"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice no more than a startled whisper.  
  
"I don't know," Ron replied, leaning forward.  
  
"Oh," was Draco's intelligent response.  
  
It all happened so slowly, it was like time itself had slowed down. So different from the lakeside, Draco felt he had an eternity to say or do something to break the atmosphere, to do something to stop it. He felt frozen in place, however, as Ronald Weasley leaned ever closer, finally capturing Draco's mouth with his own.  
  
With a sigh that was almost a whimper, Draco eyes drifted shut and he returned the kiss, drawing Ron's lower lip between his, teasing it with the tip of his tongue. A quiet moan from Ron, followed by a slow assault with his tongue, had Draco opening his mouth further, inviting Ron to explore.  
  
Heat raced through Draco, pooling low in his belly. _Merlin!_ he thought as he shifted closer to Ron, his hands cupping Ron's face. A simple snog hadn't done this to him in years, not since the novelty had worn off. A little uncomfortable about what that implied, Draco pulled back, his breathing hard, his heart racing.  
  
"Merlin!" Ron exclaimed, sounding just as affected as Draco.  
  
One corner of Draco's mouth quirked upward. "Just what I was thinking," he admitted quietly. _Now why did I admit that?_ He shouldn't be admitting things like that. This, whatever it was, couldn't mean anything. Draco had duties, responsibilities. He couldn't let himself get caught up in it. It was wrong for him.  
  
Ron was leaning back toward him, Draco, eyes hooded, licked his lips quickly, trying to force himself to stand up. He couldn't, though, and if he were being truly honest with himself, didn't really want to.  
  
The compartment door flung open and Potter waltzed in. Startling the two of them apart and to their feet. Potter's eyes grew big enough to pop out of their sockets, his jaw dropping. He turned beet red and immediately started stammering.  
  
"I'm s-sorry. I d-didn't expect--" He snapped his mouth shut and started back out into the corridor. "We're pulling into the station," he explained very quickly, "thought you'd want to know. Sorry." With that, he disappeared down the corridor.  
  
Draco and Ron stood there in silence for all of about 5 seconds when both of them burst into idiotic giggles.  
  
"Well, I think we shocked the poor boy," Draco drawled.  
  
Ron nodded. "I'd say so. But, um, unless we want to shock my family the same way, I suggest we get moving," he replied, already heading out the door.  
  
"By the way," Draco said, catching up to Ron quickly, "the next time Snape asks us to do a report?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Let's tell him to go jump in the lake."  
  
Ron laughed, eyes going wide as he shook his head fervently. "You go right ahead," he retorted as the two of them made their way toward the exit. "As a Slytherin, you've got partial immunity. Me, on the other hand, I'll just run, thank you."  
  
Draco grinned. "And here I thought Gryffindors never ran," he teased, bracing himself against the wall as the train lurched to a halt.  
  
"That's just a myth," Ron replied with a crooked grin, his voice softening as he continued. "There are a couple of things Gryffindors run from."  
  
"Yeah?" Draco asked, his grin widening "Like what?"  
  
"Oh, Trelawney having one of her gory death visions."  
  
Draco laughed. She was _famous_ for those, especially in regard to one Harry Potter.  
  
"Peeves in a good mood."  
  
Draco almost choked. _Everyone_ ran from _that_.  
  
"Snape handing out extra assignments."  
  
"I was wondering when you'd get to that," Draco retorted.  
  
"And last but _definitely_ not least, my mum on a tear."  
  
Draco couldn't help it. He laughed so hard tears sprang to his eyes. "You're mother?" he asked between fits.  
  
Ron nodded seriously; though, his eyes danced mischievously. "Anyone who's met her when she's mad."  
  
"You're _not_ serious?"  
  
"Yup, fraid so. Mum's temper is _legendary_."  
  
TBC  
Kiristeen  
Feedback: It'll definitely make my day. : )  
  
  
.  



	24. Chapter Twenty Three

Thank you _everyone_ that reviewed to let me know this story is appreciated, and being read. My profound apologies for the long delay. I've got several chapters ready to go, however, so there should be no long delays for a while here.  
  
Important Disclaimer: The site Hermione finds 'live help' at is fictional. It is not intended to portray, or mimic, any site out there. Any similarities are purely coincidental and not intended. It's also not a site I'd want to go to for help in Hermione's situation, as it has a _very_ clear bias, and is cleverly designed to appear just the thing someone needs.  
  
Warning: Disturbing subject matter ahead.  
  
Chapter Twenty Three  
  
Hermione wasn't surprised at the sadness she felt when most of the students left for winter break. This time around she was staying at Hogwarts over the break and it was only natural to feel left out, she supposed. It felt so odd being left behind. What surprised her was the amount of relief she felt overlaying the sadness. It was as if some solid weight had been lifted from her shoulders.  
  
She pulled her cloak more tightly around her as the chill December air cut through the material almost as if it wasn't there, and hurried along the path to Hogsmeade. She may not be going home, but unbeknownst to any of the professors she _was_ going to muggle London. She had options available in the muggle world that, evidently, weren't available in the magical. For something like this, that truly surprised her, but surprise or not, she was going to find out exactly what they were, and whether or not she was going to avail herself of them. She was just surprised she hadn't thought about it earlier.  
  
She knew that abortions were legal farther along than she was; though she wasn't sure _how_ much farther along. A neighbor girl, one she'd associated with off and on through the years since she'd received her letter to Hogwarts, had gotten an abortion when she was a full 4 1/2 months along. Two years ago, that had been, and Hermione had almost researched the subject. She hadn't followed through on it, however, her schoolwork and other personal projects taking precedence. Now, she wished she had.  
  
If she had, this decision now would be easier. She didn't want this child; she didn't even want to carry it. It was perpetual reminder of what had happened, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to simply ignore it, to pretend it wasn't happening. For the last three days, she'd begun to feel butterfly like flutters, and she could associate them with nothing but the growing baby. Each and every one nauseated her, and she knew that wasn't a good thing.  
  
What happened to wishing for some kind of visible proof of your ordeal?  
  
Tears stung her eyes as she recalled that day in the infirmary. _This_ hadn't been what she'd meant. A child was _supposed_ to be a loving miracle, not something that brought terror filled nightmares, and huge regrets. A child deserved to be loved and protected, not hated.  
  
Be careful what you wish for,floated through her mind.  
  
A choked sob escaped Hermione. Try as she might to reconcile herself to the situation, she couldn't stop the growing dislike she felt toward the _parasite_ growing inside her. She hated herself for it, but there it was. She didn't see it as anything but a hindrance, a hateful reminder of a hateful man. She hurried through the snow, shaking herself out of her thoughts. She would think about it when she had to, not a moment sooner, she told herself firmly.  
  
All in all, it didn't take her long to reach the Leaky Cauldron, and a few moments after that, she was stepping out into muggle London. From there, she made a beeline for the phone booth. As much as she hated to be predictable, the only place in London she was sure of getting internet access was the library.  
  
When she'd made the decision a week ago to check out her muggle options, she'd decided against going to her family's doctor. As much as she trusted Dr. McPhearson, it would simply be too humiliating. She wanted impersonal. She needed it.  
  
The sounds of muggle London didn't really penetrate her preoccupation, nor did the hustling crowds around her as she first checked the map, then quickly and quietly made her way to the library. The bus ride was spent staring out the window, trying to keep her mind carefully blank.  
  
She knew already that she would need two doctors to say she could have the abortion. That wasn't going to be easy, considering she had already excluded her family doctor. She'd already made an appointment with a local family planning clinic; it was for tomorrow. Hopefully, they would be able to recommend a secondary place she could go to.  
  
Forcing herself to let nothing of her turmoil show, Hermione took a deep breath as she climbed the front stairs of the enormous library building. Normally she would have loved to take the time to look around her, explore. She'd never been to the London Library. But this time, she stopped only at the information desk, and then headed straight for the bank of computers made available for patron's usage.  
  
Taking a deep breath, she opened a browser and typed in the URL to her favorite search engine. With a quick, covert look behind her, she typed in the subject heading 'abortion', and of course found herself staring at a page of links.  
  
She followed the first link. Well, other than being very interesting on a purely intellectual level, it really didn't help her. It seemed to center mostly on legal history -- most of that from The States. Though, she did learn that abortion was possible quite a bit farther along than she was, which was a step, she supposed. What she needed now were links that helped her where she was, not thousands of kilometers away. She checked site after site and discovered, much to her relief, that she would be able to do this _without_ her parents knowing. She remembered well, their reaction when they discovered she was helping a friend. She didn't want them to _ever_ know.  
  
You're mum _asked_ you if you were going to 'take care of it'?  
  
She shook her head angrily. She hadn't forgotten. It was just that thinking about it, and actually _doing_ it, were two very different things.  
  
Caught up in searching, her frustration for more than pretty words growing, Hermione was tempted to give up on finding what she wanted online. She didn't want platitudes, legal jargon, or 'morality' based lectures. What she wanted was cold, hard, facts. She had spent her life depending on such things, and right now she felt completely lost without them. She hesitated going to the books available at the library, however. Knowing it took time to get a book published, and _then_ more time to make its way to a library collection, kept her from believing information of this type would be up to date.  
  
She almost growled as she clicked the next link. _Must be the 30th one!_ she griped silently. _More of the same!_ she realized as she carefully worked her way through the information provided. She was about to move to the next site when a tiny graphic caught her attention.  
  
Live Help  
  
And below it, a single line of commentary.  
  
Need help making this difficult decision? Click here for live caring help and honest answers to your questions.  
  
Breathing out a sigh of relief, and a silent, but heartfelt, 'yes!' Hermione clicked the link.  
  
Finally feeling like she was getting somewhere, Hermione negotiated her way through the log in process, and subsequently the mundane greetings.  
  
_Seems nice,_ Hermione thought; though, she could have done without the smiley faces the person added to their greeting . . . considering.  
  
It was the work of only minutes before Hermione's situation was explained, the 'advisor' asking how far along she was, how old she was, what she had done so far in regard to her 'situation'. Hermione told her, leaving out, for now, the fact of her rape. Since it wasn't necessary for anyone to know that to get what she wanted, she decided to keep it to herself. It wasn't something she wanted anyone to know -- not even some anonymous someone who didn't even know who she was.  
  
It was after the next question that Hermione's jaw dropped, outrage pouring through her. She knew damn well, how _developed_ the _spawn_ inside her was. She'd seen enough pictures in her search to know all too well.  
  
"You've let it go far too long. It's selfish of you to vacillate until the child itself is actually a baby. So many people want children, and you'll keep yourself from becoming a baby killer if you carry it, and then give it to a couple who really want it."  
  
Fingers trembling, fury consuming her, Hermione typed something she'd never said aloud.  
  
"Sod off! You know _nothing_ of my situation!"  
  
The response back was quick.  
  
"You are confused and angry, obviously, not to recognize the miracle gift the child you carry is. Let those older and wiser help you understand."  
  
Of all the idiotic, pedantic, _patronizing--_ Hermione's thoughts went blank. She couldn't think of anything bad enough to think about the so-called advisor. This was _so_ not what she needed right now! Without thought, the sudden driving need to defend herself foremost in her mind, Hermione typed her response.  
  
"I was brutally tortured and raped! What do you know of _confusion_! Try putting yourself in my position!"  
  
She hit enter, momentary satisfaction flowing through her that maybe she induced guilt in the other person for their actions. Immediately afterward, however, a flush of guilt rushed through her. That had been petty.  
  
_Not like the idiot didn't deserve it!_ she thought rebelliously, shifting uncomfortably. The response, however, drove all thoughts of sympathy aside.  
  
"Here's a link, child. It'll show you what will happen. Take a good look before you can't change your mind!"  
  
"No," she typed back, "I don't think I will. In fact, I don't want anything more from you."  
  
Hermione began to rise from her chair, directing the mouse to close out the dialogue box. Before she could do so, however, a new page popped up, a picture -- a series of horrifying photos.  
  
_That __can't_ be right! Hermione thought frantically, swallowing against the bile rising in her throat. _So much blood! _ Shaking from head to toe, Hermione quickly shut down the page. She _never_ wanted to see _anything_ like that ever again.  
  
What she was left with was the dialogue box with one additional message from the 'advisor'.  
  
"It's not the baby's fault. Punish the perpetrator, not the innocent child!!"  
  
Hermione stifled an incoherent scream. Anger, fear, confusion, all coursing through her, she didn't bother shutting down individual windows; she turned the computer off. Launching herself awkwardly from the chair, she rushed out of the building, half-blinded by tears.  
  
Thanking everything that was dear to her, Hermione reached the bus stop just as the very bus she needed pulled to a halt. She climbed on board, payed, and quickly made her way to a seat. Sighing, she closed her eyes, wanting to shut everything out. Her thoughts wanting the exact opposite kept flashing to the grotesquely graphic photos she'd seen, the final words written in the dialogue box flitting through her mind over and over.  
  
_It's not _fair!! she thought angrily. Torn in two, one side of her disagreeing vehemently that what she carried deserved _any_ thought at all, the other part of her feeling guilty that she was even considering doing this, let alone intending to follow through. She'd been so sure before; now, she was utterly lost again, wondering if maybe the person might have actually been right. Was she being selfish?  
  
Her hands tightening into fists, she couldn't help but think back on the events of the previous evening, the ones that helped her come to terms with the decision she'd made.  
  
She'd been down in the potions lab with Professor Snape. Much to her continued surprise, being around the man calmed her. Considering he remained pretty much his usual snarky self, that was puzzling; though, she did have to admit that most of the outright insults had stopped outside the classroom, which was quite a relief. They had worked in silence most of the time, the quiet interspersed with his sharp comments only every once in a while.  
  
The silence had gone on for longer than normal as Hermione prepared the ingredients for the potion that Professor Snape was currently working on when she paused, glancing over at the professor. "Would you abort it?" she asked suddenly, not knowing, really, what possessed her to do so. Surely such a question would provoke the disdainful insults that had been curiously absent.  
  
Professor Snape stiffened and turned to stare at her, his expression stern but unreadable. She shifted uncomfortably under his intense gaze, dropping her eyes to the floor. "Rather a moot point," he replied finally, "wouldn't you say?"  
  
"No actually," she denied, looking back up at him. "The muggles can safely abort until at least a full four months. I-- I'm not sure how long after that."  
  
Surprise flitted across the dour potions professor's face. "Really?" he asked, almost seeming interested.  
  
"So," she repeated, "would you?"  
  
The scowl returned. "I do not think it my place to advise you on this, Miss Granger. I--"  
  
"I'm not asking you to advise me," Hermione interrupted, flinching just a touch when Professor Snape's scowl deepened, his mouth tightening into an unforgiving line. "I'm asking what you would do, in my place. I'll make up my own mind."  
  
His eyes thoughtful, Snape's expression changed several times before he answered her. "No one really knows what they would do in any situation until they've been there, Miss Granger," he said finally.  
  
"Oh stuff the sophistry!" Hermione exclaimed angrily. "What do you _think_ you would do?"  
  
Slamming the vial he held onto the workbench between them, starting when it shattered, Snape's scowl became an angry glare. He sighed before speaking, however, his expression relaxing a bit. "I most likely would, Miss Granger," he said with a weary sigh. Then, with a flick of his wand and a murmured spell to clean up the mess he'd made, he turned away.  
  
Biting her lip thoughtfully, Hermione nodded -- though, he couldn't see that, she knew. "Thank you," she said softly as she slipped out the door.  
  
She jerked herself out of her thoughts as the bus stopped. It was her stop, she realized with a start and hurriedly got off. As soon as the bus pulled away, she ran. Trying to leave everything unsettling behind she ran blindly. Past the crowds, tears once again streaming down her face, wishing fervently that she hadn't missed most of the term, she ran. If she hadn't, she would be able to apparate -- license be damned --- directly to the gates of Hogwarts and she would be that much closer to sanctuary, to home.  
  
It took her entirely too long to reach the Leaky Cauldron. Once she did, however, she breathed a sigh of relief. Just stepping inside made her feel she was closer. She didn't stop long enough to analyze that thought, but gave nothing more than a quick nod to Tom as she made her way to the hidden entrance to Diagon Alley.  
  
At least now, the tears had stopped, the nausea abated, and her thoughts had receded to a manageable level. She still didn't know what she was going to do, but she still had time to make that decision. Right now, she couldn't seem to feel anything.  
  
_Almost home,_ she thought as she stepped through the now open wall. She didn't hear the secret entrance close behind her, her entire being focused on getting back to Hogwarts.  
  
TBC  
Kiristeen  
Feedback: It's the food of the muses. : )  
  
  



	25. Chapter Twenty Four

Great thanks go out to Achelois, kimara, Tangarine Python, Amsey, and Innogen! : ) You're reviews make my week.

Answers: Yes, there will definitely be HG/SS, it's just very slow building, considering all the marks against them.

Chapter Twenty Four  
  
Their trunks and bags tossed aside and promptly forgotten, Ron, Draco, and Potter all darted outside -- the better to avoid Ron's mum, as far as Draco was concerned. The woman was a little barmy if you asked him, given to sudden fits of _hugging_, her eyes going all teary, like she was about to cry. He wouldn't have minded so much, but apparently, she'd decided he was as much fair game as either Ron or Potter. He wasn't used to such casual and _frequent_ displays of affection and he was not entirely certain how he was supposed to react.  
  
Draco was actually glad to see it happening to Ron. It meant he'd been right about Ron's insecurities. It was actually funny to watch the red-head turn just as red as his hair and demand grumpily that she let him be. Underneath it all, Draco could tell Ron appreciated every moment of it -- despite the Gryffindor's obvious embarrassment about it happening in front of him and Potter.  
  
He dropped a little behind the other two. They both looked like they knew exactly where they were going, which of course, was all too likely. He, on the other hand, didn't. He took careful stock of his surroundings, much of it not quite what he expected -- though, what he had expected, he wasn't quite sure. The house itself was pretty much everything he'd come to expect, except he hadn't realized that it would feel so . . . homey.  
  
The grounds, however, they were something else entirely. He'd pictured a yard full of broken, half-rusted muggle contraptions scattered around. What he found, was a well-tended garden-like setting, although it was missing the extensive planning of the Malfoy gardens. This looked like tamed nature and, surprisingly enough, he liked it.  
  
"Hey!" Potter shouted suddenly from several feet in front of him. "What are we going to do first?"  
  
Before Ron could reply, his mother called from behind the three of them. "You can degnome the garden," she called.  
  
Draco smirked and couldn't help but laugh as both Gryffindors slumped.  
  
"Yes, Mum," Ron replied at the same time as Harry replied, "yes, Mrs. Weasley."  
  
They both turned and headed back his direction. "The garden is behind the house," Ron said as the they reached him.  
  
Draco nodded and dropped into step with them. After a couple of moments he tentatively asked, "Is your mother always so . . . affectionate?"  
  
Surprise lit Ron's face for several seconds before he laughed. "Not quite this much, no. It's just since, well, since Ginny died, Mum's been a little touchy."  
  
"Literally," Potter piped up with, grinning past sad eyes.  
  
Ron's eyes misted over as well, but to Draco's everlasting gratitude, his friend chuckled a bit. "Yeah," he replied ruefully, heading around back of the house. "Let's get this over with."  
  
To Draco's surprise, Potter walked next to him instead of Ron. "It used to make me a little uncomfortable, too," he said quietly enough that Ron probably wouldn't hear the words. "But it's surprising how quick you grow to like it."  
  
Draco snorted. Somehow, he didn't think he'd be 'growing to like it' any time soon.  
  
And you think you'll even have a chance to?  
  
Draco frowned then, but before he could form any sort of retort, Potter took off grabbing up the first Gnome. Draco shook his head. Why were they degnoming in the winter, anyway? Nothing was growing this time of year. Watching as the two others began the chase, Draco looked for a place to make himself comfortable.  
  
"Come on, Draco," Ron yelled, having disposed of his first Gnome.  
  
Draco shook his head, smirking. "I'm a guest, Ron Weasley. As a Malfoy _and_ a guest, I don't _do_ physical labor."  
  
Ron and Potter shared a look that Draco could only describe as patently conspiring before they moved as one toward him, their strides purposeful. Eyes widening with a shot of alarm, Draco bit his lip nervously.  
  
"What are you doing?" he asked, backing up warily.  
  
"The standard response to someone who isn't willing to do their fair share," Ron replied, a smirk a Malfoy would be proud of twisting the corners of his mouth upward.  
  
"Oh?" Draco retorted gamely, continuing his careful retreat. "And just what _is_ the 'standard' response?"  
  
The two Gryffindors grinned widely, and that was when Draco _really_ began to worry.  
  
Severus stormed toward Hogsmeade. A bright, cold December day, he wrapped his cloak firmly around himself. The light dusting of snow across the ground didn't nothing to impede his progress, but it did make him careful, not wanting to fall on the slippery ground. Just minutes before, he'd been safely ensconced in his chambers when he'd been summoned to the headmaster's office. Apparently, Miss Granger was nowhere to be found and Minerva had gone into a nearly hysterical fit upon discovering that fact. The girl was not in the school nor anywhere on the school grounds.  
  
As far as _he_ was concerned the chit had probably just gone off to be by herself, and he had told Minerva so in no uncertain terms. Unfortunately, the headmaster seemed to think Minerva might be right to be worried. Consequently, Severus was out here, against his better judgement, hunting down a bloody student! He would have apparated to Hogsmeade to cut his search short, but with his luck it would end up prolonging his search instead, because he would miss her in passing. Too much of his time had already been spent on one Miss Hermione Granger lately.  
  
Is that the party line?asked a dark sarcastic voice deep inside of him.  
  
He snorted, shaking his head. He supposed it wouldn't hurt to admit that he, too, was worried. It's not like anyone _else_ would ever know. As much as Granger had annoyed him over the years, she had never simply taken off -- at least not without the instigation of her two Gryffindor _pals_. Conscientious and orderly to a fault, if Miss Granger had left for something insignificant, Severus suspected she would have notified someone. If she had left _voluntarily_, obviously it was for something she felt the need to keep secret, and that did not sit well with him.  
  
Last night's conversation came back to haunt him, her last question weighing heavily on his mind. She had told him of the muggle ability to abort an unwanted pregnancy much later than was available in the magical world. It wasn't often he came across something they were better at, but as much as the idea that there _was_ something intrigued him, right now it was one more concern he didn't need. What if that's what she'd left to do? She had been gone for hours, from all available evidence. What if something had gone wrong? For all he knew the blasted muggles had botched it all up and she was dying somewhere.  
  
She couldn't be located magically. She'd left her wand in her room -- Minerva had found it, encouraging her belief that something ill had befallen her favored student.  
  
_Bloody inconvenient is what it is!_ he thought angrily, his anger safely reignited. "Bloody stupid to leave her wand behind. Idiotic!" he muttered under his breath. "Never leave your wand behind."  
  
It was at that moment that Granger came into view. "Irresponsible child!" Severus snapped, striding forward.  
  
Miss Granger snapped her head up, staring at him in shock. "What?" she asked.  
  
"The entire staff went into an uproar when you were discovered missing, _Miss_ Granger. Do you have absolutely no consideration for anyone here that you would simply take off without word to anyone?" he demanded angrily, scowling at the thoughtless student in front of him.  
  
Miss Granger drew herself up, her shock disappearing as rapidly as pride and anger replaced it. "I was unaware," she said stiffly, glaring back at him, "that I was required to report my every move."  
  
"Well, now you know," he snapped back, reaching out to grab hold of her arm. "We need to get back to the castle and let your head of house and the headmaster know you're not lying somewhere injured."  
  
Granger wrenched her arm from his grasp, surprising him with the unexpected move. "I was already headed back to the school, Professor," she informed him angrily, her voice almost a growl. "Perhaps you would care to go ahead and pass on the _good_ news. I will follow behind at my own pace."  
  
"I will do no such thing, Miss Granger," he retorted silkily, sneering down at the student that _dared_ to speak back to him. "You are in no condition to be--"  
  
"I'm _pregnant_, Professor, not sick! I'll go where I please!"  
  
"While you are a student at Hogwarts, the staff are responsible for your well being," Severus retorted sharply. Didn't she understand how much she had scared them all? Scared the headmaster and Minerva anyway. "You will--"  
  
"Be leaving the moment I have my trunk packed, Sir."  
  
"What?" he demanded, stunned. He hadn't expected that and to his great surprise -- not to mention discomfort -- he realized he didn't like the idea one bit. Miss Granger, however, had already started to walk away. Scowling darkly, Severus hurried after her. She was _not_ going to drop that bombshell and simply walk off scot free! "What are you talking about, you silly child?"  
  
Rounding on him hotly, Miss Granger's glare turned hateful. "I am _not_ a silly child, Professor, and I will not be taken to task like an unschooled 1st year! If I am not to be treated with the respect I have _earned_, then I will leave. Simple as that."  
  
"Would you have taken off without word to anyone, were you at home, Miss Granger?" he sneered, seeing only her rebellious stubbornness, treating everyone who cared about what happened to her with reckless disregard.  
  
"Yes, as a matter of fact, I would have!" she snapped. "At _home_ I am trusted to know my own mind, and to inform someone if I am in any danger!"  
  
"You didn't inform anyone here, Miss Granger! I see you wish to be treated with respect, but do not return the favor."  
  
Granger actually growled at that -- _growled_. "Oh!" she exclaimed, stomping her foot. "I just went to the bloody library! Why would I need to tell someone about _that_?"  
  
"The library?" he exclaimed, his anger fading away in his shock.  
  
Blinking, visibly changing mental gears, Granger stared at him a moment before replying. "Yes," she said slowly, "the _library_. Is that really so surprising?"  
  
"Hogwarts' library is _far_ superior to the one in Hogsmeade, so yes, I'd have to say it is."  
  
"The muggle library, Professor. What I wanted to research, I couldn't find at Hogwarts or Hogsmeade."  
  
Draco gulped in huge gasps of air as the two Gryffindors finally decided he was _allowed_ to breathe. He hadn't realized that he was that bloody _ticklish_! No one in his memory had _ever_ tickled him before. It didn't take him long to figure out it was an effective 'attack' device, however. It left the target unable to bloody breathe, let alone move properly!  
  
"Are you two _quite_ finished?" he demanded huffily.  
  
"Depends," Ron retorted, grinning broadly.  
  
"On?" he returned warily.  
  
"On whether or not you're going to come down off your high horse and help us with the degnoming," Harry inserted.  
  
Draco glared. "Of course not," he retorted.  
  
The two moved toward him, intent sparkling in _both_ their eyes. Draco yielded quickly. "Alright! I give."  
  
"Dinner!" Mrs. Weasley shouted, interrupting the byplay.  
  
Draco jumped up from the ground, grinning triumphantly. "Saved!" he exclaimed happily, darting quickly away. He could hear both Gryffindors grumbling behind him, but that only made him grin more widely. Maybe this break wouldn't be a total waste after all, he thought as he slipped inside the house. Only time would tell.  
  
Hermione shifted uncomfortably as she made her way out of the headmaster's office and down the stone stairway. Misunderstandings had been cleared up, and fences mended -- some before they'd even reached the school. That's not what made her nervous right now. She'd confided in Professor Snape both her reason for going to muggle London, _and_ what had happened when she been there. She'd been as dispassionate about it as she could be, but she knew some of her distress had shown through. What surprised her about it all, was that Professor Snape hadn't sneered at her, telling her she was being an ignorant _Gryffindor_ for feeling so confused about it all. In fact, for Professor Snape, he'd been downright polite. Of course, if she hadn't known him for the past seven years, she wouldn't have thought so.  
  
Unfortunately, that had opened up new avenues in her mind and she'd gotten a brilliant idea -- well, it had seemed so at the time. Now, she wasn't so sure, but she wanted to ask, anyway. She _really_ didn't want to have to do this alone. Taking a deep breath, she leaned back against the hallway wall and waited. Professor Snape had yet to leave the headmaster's office. She just hoped she didn't have to wait long. It had been a very long day, and she wanted nothing more than to climb into bed and sleep. That, and she wasn't entirely certain her courage wouldn't fail her if she had to wait too long.  
  
Thankfully, she didn't have to. No sooner than the thought crossed her mind than the gargoyle slid open again, revealing Professor Snape. He immediately strode past her.  
  
"Professor Snape," she called out, wincing when he started, spinning around to face her. She hadn't meant to startle the man.  
  
"What?" he demanded sharply.  
  
Almost changing her mind on the spot, Hermione squared her shoulders and plunged ahead. "I have a doctor's appointment tomorrow, in muggle London," she explained and was heartened to see a spark of interest -- quickly hidden -- flash in Professor Snape's eyes.  
  
"What of it?"  
  
"I would appreciate it very much if you would see fit to accompany me."  
  
"What?" he asked, shock evident in his flat tone.  
  
"All the literature suggests taking someone with you. I thought maybe--" Hermione's words cut off as Professor Snape lay a hand on her shoulder. She blinked up at him in surprise. A long silent moment passed before he replied.  
  
"I would be honored, Miss Granger," he said. Then, suddenly seeming to realize he was still touching her, snatched his hand back, spun around and began striding away. He made it only a few strides before he faltered to a stop and half turned back around. "What time is the appointment?"  
  
"Two oclock," she replied evenly.  
  
"I will meet you in the front hall at precisely one," he replied, nodding once, then disappearing around the corner.  
  
TBC  
Kiristeen  
Feedback: It does an author good. : ) 


	26. Chapter Twenty Five

  
  
Chapter Twenty Five  
  
Severus rose from his desk, tossing down his quill at precisely 12:45. He had left off his teaching robes today in preparation for his and Miss Granger's trip into Muggle London. The muggle style clothing, though not all _that_ different from what he usually wore, left him feeling awkward and slightly underdressed. He habitually wore more than this within the privacy of his own chambers, never mind what he wore out in public. He shook his head as he grabbed the heavy, down-lined trench coat he had left draped over his chair as he'd dressed this morning. He didn't know what in the world had possessed him to accept Miss Granger's request, but there was something about the fact that she had been unwilling to accept the limitations she'd been given that touched a chord inside him.  
  
He could no more imagine what it must be like for Miss Granger right now than he could truly imagine what it would be like to live in a world without Voldemort, however, he was certain he would be . . . less than satisfied with the way things had turned out. Severus snorted as that thought crossed his mind.  
  
_Less than satisfied?_ he thought with wry sarcasm. _Such a way with the _obvious!  
  
With a deft movement, Severus whipped the over-coat on, and as the comfortable weight settled over his shoulders, he cinched the belt around his waist. While it didn't billow properly as he strode down the hallway it was still close enough in feel to his normal clothing that it allowed him to relax, and he was glad he'd made the impulse purchase the single time he'd ventured into the muggle world for something other than death-eater business.  
  
He stepped into the entry hall at five minutes to one, to find Hermione Granger already waiting. He paused in the shadows, watching. There was something tense and . . . expectant about her, though she seemed calmer than she had yesterday -- a fact for which he was extremely grateful. An hysterical girl was not something he wanted to deal with right now.  
  
_ So _why_ did you agree to this?_ asked that sarcastic voice he was coming to hate.  
  
Repressing the urge to roll his eyes, he sneered instead, otherwise ignoring the impudent voice.  
  
The Granger girl started as he approached, a fact that was not lost on him. His eyes narrowed. "Have you changed your mind, then?" he demanded abruptly, refusing to acknowledge the sharp pangs of disappointment he felt at the realization.  
  
"No, Sir," Granger replied instantly, her cheeks red and her breathing a touch uneven.  
  
Severus' frown deepened. Why had she reacted that way then? Surely she didn't think he would recant and not show up?  
  
"You just startled me," she continued, oblivious to his silent questions. "I was lost in thought."  
  
An awkward silence followed, one that Severus wasn't quite sure how to break. Ordinarily he wouldn't have given a blast ended skrewt's arse for whether or not one of the students was 'comfortable' in his presence, but sometime over the last few weeks -- when, exactly, Severus had no clue -- it had come to be important to him that Miss Granger was able to relax around him. It wasn't something he'd actually thought about before this very moment, and right now, he wasn't entirely certain he liked the idea.  
  
"Shall we?" he asked firmly, impatiently indicating the front door with a quick wave of his hand.  
  
"Oh, of course," Granger replied with a slight nod, turning as she spoke.  
  
Severus wasn't sure what prompted him to do so, but he strode forward beating the Granger girl to the door. Pausing, he held it open, politely waiting for her to go through it before crossing the threshold himself. Catching a glimpse of poorly hidden surprise, Severus could have kicked himself from here to the Dark Lord's current bolt-hole. What in Merlin's name had prompted him to do that?  
  
"Severus!" Poppy called before the door could close behind the two of them.  
  
Severus scowled even as he began to turn. "Miss Granger, please continue on. I will catch up to you shortly. The Three Broomsticks."  
  
Miss Granger nodded, stealing only a quick glance at the medi-witch before abruptly turning toward the grounds and hurrying away.  
  
"What can I do for you, Poppy?" Severus asked abruptly.  
  
"Where is Miss Granger headed?"  
  
Severus blinked in surprise. "What business is that of yours?" he demanded. "The fact that she is being accompanied by a professor should be sufficient," he continued bitingly.  
  
Poppy Pomfrey's eyes narrowed and he posture stiffened -- never a good sign in Severus' opinion.  
  
"Considering she's my patient, and she's in no condition to be hiking in this weather, I think it's entirely my business," Poppy snapped back.  
  
Growling lowly, Severus abruptly decided it would quicker to simply advise the school medi-witch rather than any other option. He was absolutely certain he would be kept here _debating_ should he argue her right to know. "She has a doctor's appointment, one which she request _I_ accompany her to," he informed her sharply.  
  
Poppy frowned, confusion showing clearly in her expression. "Why?"  
  
"Why _what_?" Severus demanded, feeling faintly insulted. "Why wouldn't she ask me to accompany her?"  
  
"Not that!" Poppy snapped. "Why does she have an appointment at all? By Doctor, I'm assuming you are referring to a muggle."  
  
Severus nodded once, sharply.  
  
"Surely, she realizes she would get better care inside the wizarding world," Poppy continued, "even if she isn't comfortable with me."  
  
Severus rolled his eyes, finally completely fed up with it all. "Oh, get over it, woman!" he retorted. "This has nothing to do with you."  
  
Poppy drew herself up, the perfect picture of affronted dignity. Before she could sputter out a retort, however, Severus held up a hand.  
  
"How much do you know about muggle medicine?"  
  
She blinked in surprise at the seemingly irrelevant question. "Not much," she replied slowly. "Why?"  
  
"Did you know that muggles can perform abortions later in pregnancy than those avail--"  
  
"No!" Poppy exclaimed, cutting him off midword.  
  
"Madam Pomfrey!" Severus objected sternly.  
  
"You don't understand."  
  
"And just _what_, prey tell, do I _not_ understand?" he asked sourly, interrupting Poppy in return.  
  
"Miss Granger cannot get a muggle abortion any more than she can get one via magical means."  
  
Severus frowned. "Why ever not?"  
  
Severus strode quickly toward the edge of Hogwarts' grounds, anger radiating with every step he took. He wasn't entirely certain why he was angry. There was nothing to be angry about, really. The entire situation, however, seemed to be one of one gross misunderstanding after another.  
  
Stepping off Hogwart's property, he instantly apparated to Hogsmeade. The moment he arrived he headed toward The Three Broomsticks, Madam Pomfrey's hurried explanations ringing in his ears. He was _not_ looking forward to this conversation. Unfortunately, to his way of thinking, it did not take him long to locate Miss Granger. She was waiting -- rather impatiently, if her constantly movement was an indication -- outside the pub.  
  
Her pensive expression turned to one of relief as he neared and he felt something twist inside him when it did so. Much as he wished he would be accompanying her to the appointment, he would be disappointing her instead.  
  
"Miss Granger," he began.  
  
"Good, you're here," she inadvertently interrupted with a weak smile. "I was beginning to think you might not make it in time."  
  
"I'm afraid we. . ." he said at the same moment as Granger continued.  
  
"We need to. . . ."  
  
They both halted, Granger's smile wavering, swiftly becoming a frown.  
  
"What?" She asked.  
  
Steeling himself for what he _knew_ was bound to be a scene, Severus drew in a deep breath. "Medicine is _not_ my speciality, and I know even less about pregnancy medicine."  
  
_Oh, quite beating around the bush and get to the bloody point!_  
  
Severus ground his teeth together as Miss Granger's expression mirrored the annoying voice of his own thoughts. "You will need to miss today's appointment."  
  
"Why?!" Granger snapped impatiently before he could continue.  
  
"If you would wait just a _moment_," he snapped back, "I'm _getting_ to that."  
  
"Yes, Sir," Granger replied quietly, her gaze firmly toward the ground, "I'm sorry, Sir."  
  
Frowning, as irritated with himself as he was with the interruption, Severus spoke abruptly. "You need to speak with Madam Pomfrey. There are more complications with your situation than I was previously aware of."  
  
"What?" Granger asked faintly, her voice cracking slightly. "Why?" Stiffening, her expression hardened. "This is _my_ decision, not hers!"  
  
Severus winced and grabbed her by the arm, steering her toward the Three Broomsticks. "We will sit for this conversation," he ordered abruptly, falling immediately silent afterward. He had hoped Miss Granger would take his advice and question Poppy, but that didn't seem to be in the cards.  
  
_Of course not!_ he snapped silently to himself. _That would be too much to hope for._ That didn't stop him from hoping his stern words and his stern expression would curb Granger's curiosity until they were seated and _he_ had a drink in front of him.  
  
His luck, for a change, was good. The girl beside him was seething, her expression forbidding -- he was pretty sure it would have put off everyone but someone like him -- but at least she was doing so silently. At the moment, that's all he cared about.  
  
TBC  
Kiristeen  
Feedback: Yes, oh yes! : )  
  
  
AN: For those of you concerned; no, this will not be a 'happily ever after and baby makes three' story. I hate to disappoint anyone, but if that's what you're waiting for, it's going to be a long wait.  
  



	27. Chapter Twenty Six

Yikes! LOL The last chapter sure provoked some rather . . . um . . . heated responses. Hope this chapter answers any unanswered questions.  
  
1. patience everyone. LOL I usually do explain my reasoning, which I had thought obvious in the last chapter that explanations would be forthcoming, sorry to have panicked anyone.  
2. Yes, I'm well aware that late term abortions are possible, which is what Hermione has been talking about all along. : ) This chapter finishes up explaining why she "can't get the bloody abortion".  
3. Ummmm, no worries, but I don't do well with orders. ::laughs:: Sometimes I do just the opposite simply because I'm a stubborn prat. : ). I didn't this time, of course. It would have ruined the story. That, and this chapter has been written for some time. I would have uploaded it sooner if not for the upgrades.  
  
Thanks everyone. Your responses, though a bit daunting, certainly prove you care about the story. : )

AN: Warning! Suicidal _thoughts_ contained in this chapter.  
  
Chapter Twenty Six  
  
Hermione stared out the dormitory window. She wasn't thinking. She wasn't seeing. She wasn't doing anything, really. It was all too much to take in. No, that wasn't quiet right; there was one thing she was doing. She was _feeling_. Anger and hate warred for premier position inside her. Anger at everyone who _assumed_ she had known all along, robbing her of her _choice_. She wanted that choice back. She had made her bloody decision, only to find that unlike _normal_ people, she was just out of luck and out of time. Hate, too, swirled in her heart, true hate, not the kind she'd always felt before. Raging, unadulterated, thought robbing hate held her in its grasp.  
  
She hated Lucius Malfoy with an unequalled passion. She hated the parasitic little monster that grew inside her and reminded her . Every . Single . Minute . Of what had happened to her. Last, but certainly not least, she hated herself. She hated that she hated. It made her feel guilty, her mind and her heart at disparate odds with each other for one of the few times in her life.  
  
In her mind, she knew the child within her was innocent of everything that happened, and hating it didn't make any sense. It hadn't done anything wrong, after all. Her heart, on the other hand, raged at it, at the _imposition_ it caused, the havoc it was going wreak on her life.  
  
She snorted into the obscene quiet surrounding her. She had long ago given up the childish fantasy that life was fair, that lesson having been driven home years before her current . . . predicament. 'Magically intertwined by 16 weeks.' 'To abort the baby now, would kill you too.' She laughed. "What's so wrong with that?" she asked aloud, shaking her head.  
  
Madam Pomfrey had explained it all in far more detail, of course, but most of it had gone right through Hermione. She'd really stopped paying attention after the medi-witch had revealed the 'connection' and that the baby's death would mean her own as well. Nothing else had mattered to her, after all. Why should she care about the specifics?  
  
A faint spate of laughter briefly drew her attention outside herself, her head automatically turning in the direction of the unexpected sound. Hagrid was out on the grounds, tossing what appeared to be a tree branch for Fang to fetch. He laughed as he watched the dog struggle with the -- to him -- monstrosity, the branch wobbling like a child's teeter-totter as Fang faithfully brought it back to the half-giant.  
  
A sad, envious smile crossed Hermione's face as she watched them play. Sometimes she wished she could be like Hagrid; he always seemed so happy, so carefree. He never seemed to lose that for long, no matter what happened around him. She closed her eyes against the scene, dropping her head. When she reopened them, her view contained not Hagrid and his best friend, but rather the ground below her window.  
  
_So far down,_ she mused, feeling oddly numb all of a sudden. _It would be so easy. And then it would all be over._  
  
She laughed suddenly, the sound bitter and harsh. "Oh, that's just lovely, Granger," she told herself. "How . . . _cliche_, the unwed pregnant girl considering jumping from the window and ending all her troubles. The only thing to make it complete would be a mad, tear-filled dash to the astronomy tower." She could picture it now, running pellmell through the castle without a single concern to anyone in her path. She would slam the door of that circular room, carefully locking it behind her to give her time from anyone who might be nosy enough to follow.  
  
She would then walk slowly, stately, toward one of the many expansive windows and climb onto the ledge. She would look down at the ground so very far away and ready herself. Of course, to make the cliche complete someone would have to arrive, just in the nick of time. 'Stay away!' she would exclaim. The only question remaining was, would she actually jump, or would this fantasy interloper know enough about her to convince her not to?  
  
Would anyone truly miss her if he failed? Her parents certainly would, she mused. They would be unconsolable . . . for awhile, anyway. Eventually they would move on. Ron? Would he really miss her? Probably, she thought venomously, if nothing else, because she was the only reason he consistently passed most of his classes. That wasn't entirely fair, she realized in some small portion of her mind, the part that was still thinking rationally, but she shoved that part of her away. She didn't _want_ to think rationally right now, she wanted to _feel_ this. She was a horrible, hateful person, and she wanted, deserved, to be miserable.  
  
What about Harry? She winced as her friend's probable reaction flashed through her mind. He had been through so much already. He would feel _responsible_, she knew. _Well screw you, Harry!_ she thought angrily to her vision Harry Potter. _I didn't ask you to be 'responsible' for me._  
  
Growling now, anger momentarily gaining the upper hand over her misery, Hermione shoved aside all thoughts of her friend as the twinge of guilt she felt for even contemplating something that just might be the final straw to destroy her friend tried to overwhelm her.  
  
_How can you be so utterly selfish?_ sneered her fantasy hero. He took one step closer to her. _Voldemort couldn't destroy the boy who lived. No, that honor goes to his close friend and classmate, Hermione Granger, who in a moment of wasteful self-pity threw herself from the astronomy tower, effectively destroying three lives in one pathetic, unthinking act._  
  
_Oh, God!_ Hermione thought a touch hysterically as she suddenly realized just who it was she'd pictured as her rescuer. _I'm completely losing it!_ Her fantasy hero was none other than Professor Severus Snape.  
  
She scrambled away from the window, shock overriding everything else. Not even taking the time to grab her cloak, or put shoes on her feet, Hermione fled the dormitory. She had no specific destination in mind, she simply needed to _move_.  
  
Draco blew out a weary breath as he and Ron worked silently side by side on their assigned project. They had, of course, finished all of the separate totals -- had before they'd spoken with Professor Snape -- and they were finished with over 3/4 of the results -- number percentages that compared stillborn, miscarriages, live births, and of the live births, the rate of squib over magically inclined. Of course, this had to be done for each grouping, as well as the comparative numbers _between_ the separate groupings.  
  
They'd considered, very briefly, going into some detail about the relation of power vs parentage, but had in the end decided that there was no way they could truly discover that without literally years of research. Draco had, instead, written a note to himself -- one of many -- that he would include the question somehow in his own personal report.  
  
Draco dropped his quill, arching back to stretch out muscles cramping from too long spent bent over parchment. Had he realized at the beginning just how many separate parental pairings they had been creating by dividing the wizarding world into 12 categories, (66 to be precise) and just how long it would take to thoroughly document each group, Draco would have balked and demanded that they broaden the definitions for each. He would have even, reluctantly, allowed that 6 generations or more removed from muggle heritage could be grouped as 'pure'. Originally, when Ron had wanted to label 6 to 10 generations as pureblood2, Draco hadn't liked the idea at all, but had reluctantly given in, more to just get it over with than actual agreement. It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that the numbers had supported the lines they'd 'drawn'.  
  
Unfortunately, the numbers did seem to point to the fact that biologically they could be considered 'pure'. That grouping was where the problems began. It only worsened with the next step up. Much to his dismay, the numbers, so far, seemed to indicate the best range -- all problems weighed against each other -- was when both parents were from one of the two three to five generations grouping, labeled muggle3 and halfblood3, respectively. That was followed a close second by parentage of the 'pureblood2' group with either of the three to five groups.  
  
Less generations than that and the number of squibs rose . . . slightly -- not nearly as much as Draco originally speculated, however. More generations than that, the increase of other problems began to rise -- exponentially it seemed after 10 generations. Draco, quite frankly, was growing increasingly grateful to not only _be_ a wizard with a respectable amount of power, but to also be reasonably sane, whole, and good looking. Okay, so he was a little shallow in regard to his looks, but it was a little difficult not to be thankful for them, when he contemplated some of the more common, but not debilitating, deformities they'd researched.  
  
Taking in the data as a whole, Draco was also increasingly surprised that the Weasleys had managed to actually _have_ seven children -- all of whom were magically inclined, not a squib or obvious deformity in the lot. It was an intriguing mystery and he was half-tempted to do a little more in-depth research to see if he could determine the reasons behind it. He mentally snorted. _Not this lifetime,_ he thought. _As soon as this bloody report is done, I'm not looking at another number before I'm absolutely required to._  
  
"I'm done," Ron said suddenly throwing down his quill.  
  
Draco turned toward his research partner, surprised. "You've finished _all_ of your groupings?"  
  
"Hell no," Ron replied, laughing. "I just can't do any more right now."  
  
Laughing in response, Draco stood. "Agreed."  
  
"Thank God," came the fervent response from behind them. Both jumped, turning to glare at Harry Potter.  
  
"Don't _do_ that, Harry!" Ron exclaimed, but ruined the effect by laughing immediately after. "I swear you just took a couple years off my life."  
  
Draco rolled his eyes.  
  
Potter shrugged sheepishly. "Sorry about that," he replied, then grinned. "Quidditch practice anyone?"  
  
"You have _got_ to be joking, Potter," Draco snorted. "It's freezing outside."  
  
"Never too cold for a bit of quidditch," Potter and Ron responded in unison.  
  
"Oh, spare me," Draco drawled drolly, "the 'twins' are now harmonizing."  
  
Ron chuckled, patting Draco's shoulder 'sympathetically'. Potter glared  
  
"Not me," Ron said, turning toward Potter. "I've got something I need to do," he continued, heading for the door. "I'll be back in about an hour."  
  
Watching Ron's retreating form, Draco's jaw dropped. "You're leaving me here, alone, with _him_?" he exclaimed, outraged.  
  
Ron laughed again. "Yes," he replied succinctly. "I am." His mouth twisted up into a crooked, mischievous grin -- one that worried Draco. "Why?" he asked. "Do I have something to worry about?"  
  
Draco froze, utterly gobsmacked. Ron had not just-- No way! "No, you bloody prat! And by the way . . . _ewwww_," Draco shouted, hastily scrubbing his brain free of the disgusting mental images Ron's words had evoked.  
  
Ron just laughed as he disappeared from view. _Now where could he __possibly_ be going? Draco wondered, frowning in thought. It didn't take him long to begin feeling Potter's heavy stare. "What?" he snapped when it didn't seem like the prat was going to stop any time soon.  
  
"So tell me," Potter began evenly, "what's going on between you and Ron,"  
  
TBC  
Kiristeen  
Feedback: The lifeline of muses everywhere. : )  
  
AN: Does anyone have _any_ idea how many times I've had to correct the word squib because I originally typed it out as squid? LOLOL Sorry, just a silly side note of perhaps some interest. : )


	28. Chapter Twenty Seven

Everyone, Thanks _so_ much for the wonderful reviews, I love each and every one of them.

Sportsgrl -- Ask and you shall receive, lol. And as to being 'stuck', not necessarily. There are always options. Abortion, while a viable alternative in many cases, isn't the only way not to be 'stuck' with an unwanted child. : )

Chapter Twenty Seven

"Nothing that concerns you, Potter," Draco snapped angrily, not really wanting to think too closely about it, let alone 'confide' in the boy wonder. Oh, he well knew what was going on, a blind first year would understand it. The problem was, he wasn't entirely certain he wanted it to continue happening, and _that_ wasn't something he was ready to talk about with _anyone_. Malfoy's were _not_ insecure. They went after what they wanted, regardless of what other people wanted. He supposed his father was right to be disappointed in him. It seemed he was turning out _nothing_ like a Malfoy. He couldn't even decide what it _was_ he wanted. Potter jerked him from his thoughts.

"He's my best friend, Malfoy," Potter snapped. "I'm _making_ it my business."

_Oh, for Merlin's sake!_ "Then ask him about it, Potter, and quit pestering me!"

Potter's eyes narrowed suspiciously, and Draco went on the offensive before Potter could push the issue. "Speaking of what's 'going on'," he retorted smoothly, "what pole has been up your arse lately?"

Potter frowned, his eyes widening in surprise at the counter attack. "What do you mean?" he snapped turning away and heading for the door.

"Oh, no you don't Potter!" Draco ordered, striding forward and beating him to the exit, blocking it, the challenge inherent in Potter's strategic withdrawal making him forget that he hadn't wanted this conversation to begin with.

"What's it to you, _Malfoy_?" Potter sneered, folding his arms stubbornly across his chest.

Draco was going to kill Ron for leaving him and Potter here alone, he decided -- right after he killed Potter. "You've been quiet and moody since before Granger came back," Draco snapped -- subtlety was lost on Gryffindors. "Now before, _that_ I understand, but now? I don't get it?" he continued. "Why pull away from both of them? I have no clue how it's affecting Granger -- not that I bloody care," he said, despite the taunting voice inside his brain calling him a bald-face liar, "but it's hurting Ron, and _that_ I care about."

Potter smirked, setting Draco's teeth on edge. "I knew it!" he said triumphantly.

"Bloody hell," Draco muttered, rolling his eyes. "You knew what?" he asked, despite his better judgement. _So sue me,_ he thought to himself. _I'm curious._

"You like him." Draco's heart twisted violently and his stomach clenched. _Crap! Time for quick thinking!_ He forced his expression to reflect boredom, though that was just about as far from what he was feeling as it was possible to get.

"Of course I do, Potter," he drawled. "We're _friends_ after all." Potter's grin widened knowingly. Draco actually _ached_ to wipe the smug expression off the Gryffindor's face. Instead, he again shifted focus. "Don't think I don't know what you're doing, _Potter_," he accused. "and you're not getting away with distracting me."

"Why not?" Potter asked, now grinning mischievously. "I let you do it." Draco blinked. So he had. He laughed then, surprising himself -- and Potter. "Alright, Potter, I'll make you a deal," he offered.

_What do you think you're doing?_

"You own up, and so will I." _Are you insane?_

Potter stared at him for several moments before nodding. "All right, Malfoy, you've got yourself a deal," he replied slowly.

_Now what are you going to do, you prat?_

He'd been certain Potter would back off with that. Potter, confide in him? Not going to happen. At least, that's what he _thought_. "You first then, Potter," Draco challenged.

"I think I'm going insane," Potter whispered.

_Holy fuck!_ Draco thought in shock. He _really_ did it! "What?" he asked, certain he could _not_ have heard correctly.

"You heard me _Malfoy_!" he snapped angrily, pacing away, looking anywhere and everywhere but directly at Draco. "You wanted to know what was 'up my arse'. Well, now you know. I'm going bloody out of my head."

"Not to be insensitive, well, okay, yeah, to be insensitive, what makes now so different from always?" Draco asked, trying to hide his smirk -- failing, but hey, at least he was trying. "I've _always_ thought you were completely barmy."

"I'm serious, Malfoy," Potter muttered, his voice overflowing with defeat and resignation. Shock stole through Draco. He had no clue how to handle this. It wasn't like he overly cared about Potter, the boy who bloody _always_ lived, but. . . . "What's different now?" he asked finally.

"I keep hearing Ginny," Potter admitted in a whisper, eyes now glued out the window. "She keeps calling for my help."

Draco valiantly resisted rolling his eyes. _Bloody hero complex!_ Draco thought in exasperation. "Nightmares are perfectly normal," he replied drily. "Every single one of us has been through--"

Potter's mutter cut off Draco's words, not that he heard what the Gryffindor had said.

"I didn't quite catch that, Potter."

"I _asked_; when I'm awake?"

_Oh Merlin on crutches! He really __is_ ready to be locked up! "She calls out to you when you're awake?" Draco asked in astonishment. Potter nodded miserably, finally looking directly at Draco. Draco shifted restlessly, not sure exactly what to do. He'd always heard crazy people were dangerous. They could do anything; you couldn't predict their reactions. He'd have to be careful, he decided. Play the 'sympathetic listener'. Yeah, he could do that. He took a step forward. "Do you hear her now?"

Potter shook his head.

Draco swallowed. "Recently?"

"No," Potter denied, shaking his head again, "not since we left Hogwarts."

Draco frowned. "Not since you left Hogwarts?"

"No!" Potter snapped. "Do you have to repeat _everything_ I say?"

"Sorry," Draco muttered automatically, his thoughts spinning. "Are you _sure_ you're just imagining it?" he asked suddenly. It didn't seem quite right that it stopped the moment Potter left Hogwarts. Ghosts were tied to one place weren't they?

Potter blinked at him, his expression shocked. "I don't appreciate being _humored_ Malfoy!"

Draco frowned again. "I'm not!" he denied hotly. "Yeah, okay, it started out that way, but I'm serious. If you were going barmy, why would you only hear her at school?"

Frowning, Potter slowly crossed toward him. "What else could it be?"

"Every hear of _ghosts_, Potter?" Draco asked snidely, rolling his eyes. "Honestly, you'd think you hadn't been a part of the wizarding world for almost 7 bloody years."

Potter growled lowly. "Of course I have, Malfoy! Don't be an idiot. Ghosts can be _seen_ as well as heard, in case you've forgotten," he retorted with sarcasm equal to Draco's own.

"No, I haven't bloody forgotten," Draco snapped back, "the _point_ is, there may actually be a different explanation. Of course," Draco continued, shrugging as he abruptly changed tracks, "you probably _are_ round the bend. It does stand to reason, however, if the dead can remain here one way, there _might_ actually be more than that one way."

Potter's eyes brightened, a hopeful look lighting his face. "You really think so?" he asked.

Draco rolled his eyes again. "No, I don't," he denied drily, "I'm really just blowing air up your trousers. I've course I think it's _possible_."

Potter grinned at him then. "So," he asked brightly, "how do we go about finding out if she really _is_ . . . around?"

Draco's eyes narrowed at Potter's abrupt change of mood. It was too fast for comfort and definitely hard to follow. "We'll have to wait until we go back to school," he replied, carefully watching Potter for signs of instability. He wasn't a hundred percent certain the Gryffindor wasn't crazy, after all. The bloke _had_ been through as much as they all had . . . and then some. "There are spells to check for presences."

Potter nodded thoughtfully. "Do you know them?" he asked. "The spells to use?"

Draco shook his head. "No, but I do know what book to find them in. They're in the--"

"--restricted section," Potter finished with him, smirking.

Draco glared.

Potter just smirked, shrugging. "It just figures. Most of the good books _are_ in the restricted section."

Snorting, Draco nodded in acknowledgement. The Gryff had a point.

"Now," Potter announced, his smirk turning to a mischievous grin, "you're turn."

"My turn for what?" Draco asked, stalling.

Potter didn't reply, just stared.

Draco prided himself on his ability to win any staredown, any time, any where, but locking gazes like this with Potter was . . . disconcerting him. Why had he never noticed that Potter's kind of eyes had the ability to seem like they were staring into your very soul? He shook himself, sighing in defeat. He _had_ agreed to the blasted exchange, after all.

"What do you want to know?" he asked resignedly.

"Duh! I want to know what's going on between you and Ron," Potter replied easily.

Sighing again, Draco shook his head. "And you aren't asking Ron, why?"

"I'm asking you," Potter shot back instantly.

"Really?" Draco asked, drily. "I hadn't noticed."

"Malfoy," Potter drawled warningly.

"Oh, bloody all right!" Draco snapped. "I don't know."

"Oh! You can do better than _that_!" Potter accused.

"No, I really can't," he replied, shaking his head.

"Draco? Harry?" Ron's voice called up to them.

"In your room still," Draco called out. He looked at Potter, smirking again. "Saved," he said.

"Not quite," Potter insisted, his voice now quieter.

"Potter," Draco sighed. "I really _am_ not sure. This is a first for me, okay? I haven't even figured it all out yet. How the hell am I supposed to explain it to anyone?"

"You just did," Potter said quietly, moving past him toward the door. "Just remember this, Draco Malfoy, if you purposely hurt Ron, I'll 'purposely' hurt you."

"Hey guys!" Ron exclaimed happily, then frowned, his glance going from one to the other.

"Everything okay here?" Unplanned, they turned in tandem, replying at the same time. "Yes, Ron, everything's just great."

TBC  
Kiristeen  
Feedback: Yes please. : ) 


	29. Chapter Twenty Eight

  
  
Thanks everyone for the reviews. : ) I appreciate all of you.  
  
Laura Pulver: One, I had read recently, that JKR said her name was supposed to Ginerva -- but guess what, if it's not in the books, then I don't have to take it as canon. Two, Blaise has been portrayed in fanfic as either, since his/her gender is again never specified in the books. I chose girl. Sorry, if either of those points bug you, but that's the way it is. Three, if it's so boring, why did you stick with reading long enough to _find_ those 'mistakes'? Rude comments help no one, and just point out how insecure you, yourself, are. Btw, I'm laughing all the way to the fireplace. : )  
  
Chapter Twenty Eight  
  
Hermione sighed softly, staring at the numbers that had long since started to run together in her mind. She'd spent the last five days virtually buried in Ron and Malfoy's report. It was a very convenient excuse not to think about things she would rather not, and she had begun spending more and more time down in the potions classroom. Odd, really, when she thought closely about it -- which she tried not to do, it led to far too many uncomfortable questions. She could work on the report just about anywhere. The library would certainly be far more comfortable than here, the stools in the classroom not in anyway condusive to comfort.  
  
She'd tried the dormitory, but there, her thoughts always seemed to drift. It was too quiet there. Not that the potions classroom was any noisier, but the dorm wasn't _supposed_ to be quiet, this room was. Somehow that made a difference. She was, simply put, more comfortable here. Why that was she couldn't possibly fathom -- not that she truly tried all that hard to figure it out. She did have to admit that these days she was beginning to prefer Professor Snape's company over any of the other professors. It was a realization that had led her to finally figuring out why it was him -- of all people -- whom she'd pictured as her rescuer. She felt _safe_ around him. That, of course, was a shock in and of itself to Hermione. Just a few short months ago, she would never even have considered it.  
  
She shook her head at her musings. The entire world seemed to have turned upside down, not just her.  
  
Professor McGonagall didn't seem to know how to act around her, veering from one end of the spectrum to the other. Sometimes she was overly solicitous -- times that made Hermione clench her teeth and fight to keep from vomiting. Other times, the older witch was distinctly uncomfortable, seeming to scramble just to hold a 'normal' conversation with her. Those times alternately made Hermione feel guilty that she made her Head of House so uncomfortable, and angry that the blasted woman couldn't just hold her tongue if she didn't know what to say.  
  
Madam Pomfrey, on the other hand, was steadfast in her glowing 'pride' of Hermione. 'You are handling all of this with wonderful strength, my dear,' she'd said more than once, beaming at Hermione. That made Hermione's teeth ache. 'You really should rest more, dear.' 'Are you sure that stack of books isn't too heavy?' Every comment out of the medi-witch's mouth seemed designed to be both sickeningly sweet and to directly remind her of the condition she neither wanted, nor needed, any reminder of.  
  
Flitwick, gentle soul that he was, seemed completely flustered around her, and had long since taken to simply not being near her. That was fine with Hermione most of the time. She certainly preferred his reaction to Professor McGonagall or Madam Pomfrey, but it was still a rather pointed reminder that nothing was the same anymore . . . never would be.  
  
Even Hagrid had changed toward her. He still treated her with utmost respect, but now, he was always so careful around her, so . . . gentle. Hagrid wasn't _gentle_. Caring, considerate? Very. Kind? Certainly. Gentle? No. He was hamhanded and a little rough. He couldn't help it. He was simply so much bigger and stronger than anyone else around him. Now, though, he never touched her at all -- much to her combined relief and heartbreak -- never pulled her into one of those nearly bone crushing hugs he was so renowned for.  
  
Only Professor Snape seemed unchanged. Despite her earlier thoughts, he was the only one she never worried about accidental touches around. As far as her memory provided, he never touched _anyone_. He sneered much the same as he always had, derided her when -- in his opinion, which differed greatly from her own -- he thought she was getting 'above herself'. When she was wrong about something -- a thing that happened more often than she'd like lately -- he was quick to point it out, his words as harsh as ever.  
  
In between those times, however, he was quiet.  
  
Over the course of the last three days, Hermione had spent most of her work time alone, but Professor Snape had come and gone numerous times. Sometimes he glared. _Par for the course, and entirely expected,_ Hermione thought with a light, snorting chuckle. Sometimes he simply ignored her presence, going about whatever business had brought him to the normally empty classroom and then leaving without a glance or word to indicate he'd even realized she was there.  
  
Once, he'd approached her, stopping on the opposite side of the table where she was seated and asked how her computations were coming along. What had surprised her about it, had been the fact that he'd asked reasonably politely. It had been . . . unexpected, rather nice, though, and she had shared her findings so far, carefully watching the prickly professor for signs that she was providing too much information -- a self-admitted fault.  
  
"Damn!" she muttered, frowning sternly. "Now, I've started drifting here, too."  
  
Forcing her attention back to the work at hand, Hermione had only managed to finish one more set of comparisons when the door opened. She jumped to her feet, her gaze automatically jerking toward the sound, even as her heart leapt in her chest. The reaction was over as quickly as it had come, but it was still an annoyance she could do without -- the fear that bloomed inside her every time a loud noise startled her.  
  
Absently noting it was once again Professor Snape, Hermione returned her attention back to the parchment in front of her. It didn't stay there long.  
  
"Still here, Miss Granger?" Professor Snape questioned drily. "You aren't by any chance trying to become _Slytherin_ are you?"  
  
Blinking over at the professor in shock, Hermione gasped. "No!" she exclaimed, the words out before she even thought about them, only then realizing that her vehemence could very well be taken as an insult. She blushed, even as she firmly squelched the nearly overwhelming urge to apologize. That would just make matters worse, she knew.  
  
Professor Snape snorted, his expression . . . amused?  
  
She narrowed her eyes. Professor Snape, amused, was never a good sign for Gryffindors -- at least not usually. In fact, it usually harolded one of them getting into very deep trouble. She lifted her chin slightly, refusing to lower her eyes. "Something I can help you with, Professor?" she asked, virtually daring him to saying anything.  
  
"Yes," he drawled, smirking, "as a matter of fact, there is."  
  
Hermione blinked. That was different. "What?" she asked warily.  
  
"You can put that report up and come to the great hall to eat," he replied firmly.  
  
"What?" she asked, this time confused.  
  
"Eat, Miss Granger," Professor Snape, repeated with a sneer, "that's where you sit down, put food in your mouth, chew, and--"  
  
"I know what eating is, Professor!" she snapped, drawing in a deep, calming breath immediately after. _Not a good idea to snap at Professor Snape, idiot!_ she reminded herself firmly. _Even if he __is_ acting like a prat. "I'm not hungry, Sir," she continued, turning back around to face the report. "I'd like to get some more work done on--"  
  
She jumped, gasping, when Professor Snape suddenly appeared on the other side of her table, leaning halfway across it, his clenched fists supporting his weight. "Sit down and listen, Miss Granger," he growled, his face as angry as she'd ever seen it.  
  
Mutely, Hermione sat, swallowing against the sudden drying of her mouth and throat.  
  
"As much as you do not care to consider it, you are now responsible for more than just your own health--"  
  
"Don't!" Hermione hissed, pleading. "Not you, too!"  
  
Surprise flew across the professor's face, but was gone almost as quickly as it had come, his expression settling into one she couldn't interpret. It seemed oddly controlled to her, however. The sudden silence between them stretched out to what seemed an unbearable length of time to Hermione, but couldn't have actually been more than a few seconds.  
  
"Yes, Miss Granger," he snarled suddenly, "me too, as you so _eloquently_ put it. By not eating properly, you are endangering both your health and the health of the child you carry. I understand that you do not--"  
  
"You _don't_ understand!" Hermione shouted, launching to her feet, wincing as she overstretched already strained abdominal muscles. "You can't _possibly_!"  
  
"I understand more than you think I do, child!" he shouted back, his expression darkening further.  
  
"How could you?" Hermione sneered, her tone a remarkable imitation of the professor's. She winced, instinctively stepping back as Professor Snape tensed, the fists he was leaning on clenching tightly.  
  
After a visable breath the enraged professor relaxed marginally, his expression returning to near neutrality. "I cannot, and will not pretend to, fully understand everything about what you are experiencing, but I _do_ understand what it is to hate, Hermione Granger. Hate is something I have lived with for longer than you have been _alive_. It will eat you up inside and leave you cold and bitter, and unable to feel anything else."  
  
Hermione's jaw clenched and her eyes narrowed. How _dare_ he? She had every _right_ to her hate! She was the _victim_! She was about to tell him as much when a look of speculation danced through the professor's eyes, surprising her out of it. The brief flash of uncertainty that followed -- leaving too quickly to be positive of -- held her tongue and had her watching the professor warily. What _was_ he thinking now?  
  
"I have to assume you do not . . . approve," he began, smirking, "of the way I treat your friend, Mr. Potter."  
  
"Of course I don't," she retorted heatedly. _As if!_ she continued silently. The sudden satisfied smirk that appeared on the professor's face, however, threw her. She frowned, completely puzzled.  
  
"In that case, Miss Granger, _you_ are a hypocrite," he said smugly, pulling back, then smoothly spinning away from her, his robes swirling with his movements. He paused before reaching the door, turning to look at her over his shoulder. "And by the way, 10 points from Gryffindor for disrespecting a professor," he said before resuming his exit.  
  
Complete and utter shock coursed through her, momentarily freezing her in place. "You son of a bitch!" she exclaimed just as he reached the door, not caring about anything but her outrage just long enough for the words to slip out.  
  
He froze, then turned ever so slowly around.  
  
Hermione gulped. "Oh my!" she whispered. _I've __really_ done it now!  
  
"Would you care to explain that remark before I put your house in the negative for the rest of the school year, Miss Granger?" he asked, his voice silky smooth, and deceptively quiet.  
  
Holding a very tenuous hold on her own anger, Hermione lifted her chin stubbornly. She would ride out whatever his response might be. "The two situations are _not_ even remotely the same," she said just as quietly.  
  
"And you are suddenly as omniscient as the headmaster seems to be, to know this?" he asked snidely, his expression shuttered.  
  
Hermione snorted. Her own sarcasm fast rising to the surface. "I suppose your telling me that Harry's father raped you?" she sneered right back. Hermione didn't get the reaction she expected.  
  
"What happened between James Potter and myself is none of your business, _Miss_ Granger," he snapped. "Be in the great hall in ten minutes for dinner or expect 50 points from Gryffindor," he continued tightly as he swept out of the room.  
  
_I'll take that as a yes, Professor,_ she thought in shock, on the heels of which came, _be careful what you ask, you might get an honest answer!_ She had fully expected rolled eyes and a snapped response of, 'Don't be ridiculous, Miss Granger.' What she'd gotten instead had rocked her perceptions down to her very bones.  
  
"Oh my God!" Hermione whispered hoarsely into the empty room. Shaking, she dropped back onto her stool. Mechanically, she sorted and stacked her papers, carefully placing them inside her book bag. By the time she'd finished, she'd come to a decision. However difficult in may be, she was going to return Professor Snape's favor. She wouldn't change how she acted around him. She would not allow this new knowledge she possessed -- knowledge that really wasn't hers to know -- to affect her reactions to him. She owed him that much . . . at the very least.  
  
With a deep, cleansing breath, Hermione closed the door behind her and headed for the great hall. As much as she hated to admit it, she felt better now, and as much as she wished what she'd been through on _no one_, it felt . . . good . . . knowing that there really was someone who truly understood what she was going through. And then she wondered if that made her a bad person.  
  
TBC  
Feedback: Puts me over the moon. : )  
Kiristeen  
  
  



	30. Chapter Twenty Nine

Thank you everyone who reviewed. Each and every note means a lot.  
  
Sorry, too, for the long delay. My already hectic life, took a plunge into chaos, and access to the internet has been sporadic at best. On a good note, however, it did mean I ended up doing a lot of writing offline. : ) I've another story about halfway finished, lol, I've just got to get it transfered to the computer.  
  
Hope you enjoy. : )  
Kiristeen  
.  
  
Chapter Twenty Nine  
  
The ever changing lights of the great hall flickering around her, Hermione sighed as she pushed her plate away. No matter the threats of Professor Snape force feeding her, she simply could not eat another bite -- despite the fact that, thankfully, the morning sickness she had been experiencing for the last month and a half had seemingly disappeared for good. She was tempted to knock wood on the heels of that thought as vague superstition raised its ghostly head. Snorting, she fought the silly impulse with a confused shake of her head.  
  
Gods above, but she had mixed feeling about the end of winter break. All the students would be returning tomorrow, and though she couldn't deny that she missed her two best friends to the very depths of her soul, she was _not_ looking forward to the loss of the quiet she had not only become used to, but had grown to cherish. In the emptiness that was the holidays, it was easy to avoid other people when she wished to be alone, and that would all come to an abrupt halt with the return of the hundreds of students who were currently on holiday.  
  
There was nothing she could do about that, however, and as she sat alone at the Gryffindor table, the remains of her meal in front of her, the thoughts that she'd managed to push aside while she ate came rushing back in on her. Without the task of finishing her meal, all the little things, alongside the rather huge obstacles in her path disrupted her quiet time.  
  
The little things included the end of her solitude. Though that was the most minor of all her concerns, it certainly added to her worry. On the heels of that, a stumbling block of bigger concern was the coinciding return of Malfoy.  
  
Hermione shuddered involuntarily, instantly clamping down on the unwanted response with clenched teeth and raw determination.  
  
_That's it!_ she thought decisively. _He's not 'Malfoy' any longer. From now on, he's Draco -- whether he likes it or not!_  
  
She almost laughed at that point, suddenly picturing the blond's reaction the very first time she actually _used_ his given name -- without his permission no less. Drawing herself up straight, Hermione's small grin morphed into a smirk. _Well, if he doesn't like it, he can just bloody well get over it!_ She was tired of thinking the name Malfoy and being instantly thrust back in time. The name Malfoy had become synonymous with terror, and she was not about to let that rule her life. That _bastard_ was not going to win!  
  
She sighed then. If she could get away with it, she would have simply avoided the blond Slytherin as much as humanly possible, and ignored the prat when it wasn't. There was just one tiny, little obstacle with that plan. It seemed that, during her absence, something had developed between Draco Malfoy and her red-headed best friend.  
  
Of course, without having talked to Ron Weasley, she couldn't be sure exactly what was going on there, but even so, she knew _something_ was. That they had worked past their antipathy was as obvious as it was astonishing. That their relationship had evolved into -- at the minimum -- a friendship was beyond shocking. She suspected that it was actually more than that, or was at least trying to be.  
  
She had no inherent problem with it, not beyond her inability to be in the same room with the blond. Her problem was that she did not want to risk losing Ron's friendship over the prat. As such, she resolved to shove aside her reservations, and her fears, determined to make the effort to get to know the Draco that Ron had obviously come to know. She could get along with the prat, she decided firmly. After all, he hadn't done anything to her -- well, aside from being an arrogant, egotistical, bullying prat for all of most of her six plus years at Hogwarts.  
  
She shook her head defiantly. _I've already been through this!_ she scolded herself, unsure why she was going through it yet again.  
  
_Yes, you do!_  
  
She almost growled at herself as she stared across the nearly vacant great hall. Unfortunately, her conscience's thought was the truth. She knew very well why she was thinking about all the little things she had long ago decided how she was going to handle -- theoretically, anyway. Doing so, helped her avoid thinking about the big things -- like what the hell she was going to do about the child she didn't want.  
  
She had already forced herself to do some research on the subject.  
  
Now she actually giggled. Of course she had. Research was what she was good at. It calmed her, centered her universe. She had begun her impromptu research the very day that Professor Snape had dropped his bombshell -- though Hermione had to admit that her _assumption_ from his statements and reactions was just that . . . an assumption. He hadn't actually out and out _said_ what she thought he'd implied, but it certainly seemed obvious to her.  
  
He would have sneered and laughed at her had she been wrong . . . wouldn't he have? Unfortunately, she had no way of knowing. Her decision to not react, not to question, was one of the easiest she had ever come to, but was by far the hardest to accomplish. Sometimes, she virtually _ached_ to reach out and tell the professor that she understood, that if he wished, she would listen. After all, he was plainly still very bitter about the whole thing. Not that she blamed him -- if she was right, of course. She'd be a mite angry and bitter too, in his place. From what she could tell, nothing had ever been done about it.  
  
Unfortunately, her decision to 'treat him no differently than before' precluded that option -- not that she wasn't absolutely certain the Professor wouldn't verbally flay her for bringing it up, which _did_ go a very long way to helping her keep her resolve. She snorted through a flash of ironic amusement. At least now, she understood her other professors a bit better. She just hoped her outward reactions were a bit better hidden than theirs had been. While she was still sure it was the best route to take, and that Professor Snape had never intended to reveal quite so much to her, it was not in Hermione's nature to simply ignore something that so obviously _still_ bothered a friend.  
  
And wasn't _that_ a shocker. If someone had told her less than a month ago that she would consider Professor Snape a friend, she would have thought them ready for an extended, all expenses paid vacation at St. Mungos -- in the psychiatric ward. Now, though, as shocking as it seemed, she _had_ come to view the man that way -- at least in the deep privacy of her own mind -- a snarky, sarcastic, slightly bitter friend, but a friend nonetheless.  
  
A quiet laugh escaped her as a picture of flashed through her mind of her telling her prickly professor just that. Somehow, she didn't think the thought would sit well with the man who seemed to _live_ to terrify students into line. Perhaps it would be best if she kept that to herself for now, she thought -- not without continued humor -- there would be time to admit her feelings later if it became appropriate.  
  
Of course, that was not the pressing matter. No, the results of her research were what she _should_ be concentrating on -- no matter how stereotypical her actions were. She had to admit that it had been easy to push aside the personal aspects of what she was researching as she had fallen into long established patterns. It had been amazingly simple to do so, in fact, long enough to get the information she needed.  
  
To her dismay, however, she had discovered that unlike the muggle world, the wizarding world had no set, legal procedures for the adoption of orphans or otherwise unwanted children. There existed no specific agencies that handled such things -- government controlled or otherwise. Everything was far too set around the bloodlines of the ancient pureblood families.  
  
Quite frankly, her own personal situation aside, her research had left her utterly appalled at the lack of resources for some orphaned children. The old pureblood families -- most of them, anyway -- had long established estate wills that dealt appropriately with children born outside 'legitimate' unions, leaving them with back up guardians and small trust funds to provide for their care and material welfare.  
  
In the wake of it all, Hermione was still left wondering what happened to those not covered in such estate wills -- or perhaps occasionally loved by their otherwise married parent. Further checking had led her to the appalling discovery that those orphans not specifically covered in wills or taken in by willing 'right side of the sheets' family ended up in orphanages -- with little to no hope of adoption.  
  
Positively medieval! she fumed -- both now and then. Personally, she would have thought that, at least, with the enormous number of orphans following Voldemort's reign of terror, _something_ would have changed. Apparently, however, nothing had.  
  
A small mercenary, vengeance seeking part of her wondered -- not for the first time -- if the Malfoy's had such a codicil. She scoffed with a derisive snort. Most likely not. She smirked in momentary satisfaction as she pictured one Lucius Malfoy turning over in his grave if the bastard child inside her were _ever_ to be legally recognized as a Malfoy. That fantasy dissolved very quickly under the weight of reality, however, just as it had every time it reared its head. Giving in to that need for revenge would mean _she_ would have to raise the child herself, and beyond that, she would have to raise it _as_ a Malfoy.  
  
_Get back on track, Granger!_  
  
Grinding her teeth in frustration at her inner conscience -- the same one that berated her any time she took more than the briefest of time away from her studies -- she sighed in weary resignation. Surprisingly, her inner nag was amazingly quiet on the subject of catch up work of late -- especially considering how far behind she was. Not that she wasn't very grateful for that unexpected silence.  
  
Since her return to Hogwarts, she had been unable to concentrate on schoolwork for much more than an hour at a time. As a result, she was still -- literally -- behind. In fact, she had only managed to cover the material everyone else had through October. November and December's lessons remained unfinished.  
  
Thankfully, most of it all had been review for her -- ambition and the obsession with learning having had her far ahead of her classmates in most areas long before the end of last summer break. Due to those facts, she had been able to skim some of her classmates work -- a horror she would have never considered before now -- allowing her to concentrate on the information she had yet to learn. It had certainly help the speed of her 'catching up'.  
  
Only one class had escaped the 'skim syndrome', and that had been potions. It was the one class she didn't dare it. In fact, it was the one class she was _completely_ caught up in -- including the holiday assignments everyone had been assigned. That was the one class she could never allow herself to shirk. Not only would she never hear the end of it, she would greatly disappoint her friends with the number of house points Professor Snape would surely take if she appeared in class any less than perfectly prepared. She may not care much about house points any more, but her friends and housemates probably still did.  
  
Yanking her thoughts away from such mundane -- safe -- thoughts, Hermione nervously chewed her lower lip. In regard to the child, there were only two ways to go. That hadn't changed from the beginning. Either she could opt to go to a muggle adoption agency, which had the benefit of being completely anonymous -- she would never have to know just _who_ the child was -- or she would have to do all the work herself. Getting a lawyer was something she couldn't do without getting her parent's financial help, and that was something she was determined to do without.  
  
The latter choice of doing it herself, however, consisted of a _lot_ of hard work to consider doing and she frowned as she once again considered going the already rejected muggle route.  
  
It _would_ be simpler for her, as she would simply turn the matter over to them. They would do everything for her but give birth -- and wouldn't it be _nice_ if they could do _that_ as well, she mused.  
  
Unfortunately, her better sense didn't think that would be a very good option. While there was a chance -- the report she'd been working on for Professor Snape certainly proved it -- that the child would have no magic, she knew full well that it likely would. That _could_ create problems.  
  
Hermione was the last person to believe there was an inherent problem with muggles raising a magical child -- obviously. That wasn't her biggest worry there. What _did_ concern her was her awareness that for every family that was like hers -- loving and accepting -- there had to be a family like Harry's. Unfortunately, that wasn't something she, or a muggle agency, could check for in advance.  
  
Of course, all this led her to the same conclusion she had already -- tentatively -- come to . . . right back where she had started.  
  
She would have to do it all herself. _She_ would have to find a family -- a magical family -- willing to take the child. _She_ would have to check them out to make sure they would be . . . suitable. And, without an incredible amount of luck, she would have to do it again and again until she found the 'right' parents.  
  
She fully acknowledged that, that was going to be . . . difficult, as well as an extremely drawn out process.  
  
_Best get started then,_ her conscience nagged, _hadn't you?_  
  
_How, though?_ she retorted silently, frowning.  
  
_Duh!_ came the response. _ When in doubt, ask._  
  
Of their own volition, her eyes drifted toward the headtable. As she would expect, both Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall were still present. They rarely left before most, if not all of the students. That hadn't changed over the holidays. Either of the older witches would be able to give her advice on how to proceed. They might even know of specific couples who, unable to have children of their own, would be happy to adopt the child.  
  
It wasn't their willingness to help that Hermione questioned; it was her ability to ask. She had discovered that her newly acquired habit of avoidance had a big drawback, she no longer had absolutely any clue how to broach the subject with either woman. She had no doubts -- no matter how well hidden the feelings might be -- Hermione's latest behavior had to . . . sting.  
  
She laughed quietly, amazed at how much amusement she was managing to find in such a difficult subject. Somehow, though, she didn't figure that the approaches she had recently perfected for Professor Snape would work as well on either the medi-witch or her Head of House.  
  
Her eyes, once again with a mind of their own, shifted left, and also as she had known before she looked, Professor Snape's seat was empty. He, as always, was long gone.  
  
Decision made without another thought, Hermione rose and quietly walked out of the great hall. She headed immediately toward the dungeon -- her third home, lately. If she didn't do this immediately, she knew damn well that she would put it off again. Frankly, if it hadn't been for Professor Snape's rather insistent urging that she take care of herself . . . and ultimately the baby . . . she wouldn't have had the wherewithal to even begin this yet. Truth be told, she probably wouldn't have even given a second thought until _much_ later.  
  
Professor Snape's snide insinuations had been an abrupt wake up call, and a rather bitter pill to swallow. Much to her disgruntlement, he was right. This wasn't something she could just ignore and hope would go away. It wasn't going to go away until she did something about it. With that in mind, she made a beeline for Professor Snape's office, hoping he might have stopped in there before retiring to his rooms for the evening. He usually did; she just hoped she was soon enough to catch him still there.  
  
She hadn't the faintest clue where his private quarters were . . . not that she had the courage to go there even if she did. Gryffindor courage only went so far, it seemed.  
  
_Courage?!_ Hermione thought, once again smirking. Somehow, courage didn't seem to cover what was needed to beard the lion -- or in this case snake -- in his den.  
  
TBC  
Feedback: Fanfic author's live for it, and I'm no exception. =)  
Kiristeen  
  
  



	31. Chapter Thirty

AN: A point was made to me about switching scenes without a visible "break". It wasn't until then that I realized that ff . net seems to be stripping away my asterisks. :( I'll be experimenting with different scene breaks, hopefully something will show up when posted.  
  
Kimara -- Hermione is confused about that issue, herself. As of Chapter 30 she is leaning more towards not wanting to even know who the child becomes, but she is definitely not sure about anything except for the fact that she doesn't want to have to raise it herself. As for her parents, interesting thought. I hadn't even thought about it, as it isn't something I would do. I'll have to think about that, or at least have the thought come to Hermione in one form or another. Thanks. : ) In regards to "lots written", that was in reference to another story, sorry to get your hopes up. :( Though chapters 32 and 33 are written, I still need to write chapter 31. I realized quite late that I'd skipped some story I shouldn't have, lol, so the next chapter will be a bit delayed.  
  
**Chapter Thirty**  
  
Completely ignoring the lesson plans on his office desk that needed finalizing before the students' return tomorrow. Professor Snape leaned back in his chair, lost in thought. He was in something of a quandary. It wasn't as if he wasn't usually in one or another situation requiring him to make difficult decisions, but this . . . this was one he'd never been in before. While, he was heartened that Granger had seemed to take his advice and was now eating properly, that was entirely part of the problem he was now considering.  
  
_Considering? Try worrying like a dog with a bone!_  
  
He snorted, his frown lifting into wry acknowledgement of his new . . . predicament. For the very first time . . . ever. He found himself having feelings of _friendship_ for a student, a _Gryffindor_ student no less. There wasn't anything particularly 'wrong' with that fact. That wasn't the root of the problem. After all, despite the brat the blond boy had been for most of his schooling, young Draco had always held a place in his heart. What made _that_ different was his feelings toward the young man were not those of a friend.  
  
The Snape and Malfoy families had always been close associates, and it was no different now -- even _with_ the difference in philosophy that had developed. He reluctantly, and much to his chagrin, saw Draco as something approximating a surrogate son. One he had never wanted, it was true, but that fact didn't change the situation one iota. All in all, he was still better equipped to deal with that, than he was this new conundrum. After all, he knew the end of school would not see the end of his and Draco's association.  
  
He sighed. And now he was hitting the crux of his . . . concerns. He had always been a loner, an outcast for the most part, and had let very few people close enough to him to call them friend. How Hermione Granger had managed to breech his protective walls and firmly ensconce herself atop them, sitting securely -- if not a trifle smugly -- between Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall, completely baffled him. It pretty much went without saying that he was not a pleasant man. For the most part, he didn't like people -- _young_ people he liked even less -- and he wasn't afraid to let that show. That tended to put people off--  
  
_Thinking the obvious now, Severus Snape?_ he derided himself. _Next thing you know, you'll be leaping to the rescue with no thought to the consequences!_  
  
He rolled his eyes, sneering sourly. He had nearly crossed _that_ cursed line already, when he had attempted to get the stupid girl to take care of herself. He had watched her wasting away, losing weight rapidly despite her pregnancy. He had merely meant to get her to see she was punishing _herself_ as well as the child, all because of something a third person had done. When he'd begun speaking, he'd certainly _never_ meant to bring his own behavior into the spotlight -- Merlin forbid! -- let alone the very personal reasons behind them! Those were his business and his business alone as far as he was concerned.  
  
Though he _did_ have to reluctantly admit, she had handled the rather awkward situation surprisingly well. He'd been on edge for three days following the . . . incident, snapping at everyone even more than usual, wondering when she was going to bring it up, when she was going to start trying to _talk_ about it. She hadn't, though, not once. Oh, he had not missed her silent self-wrestling sessions -- there wasn't a Gryffindor out there with enough subtlety to get that kind of thing past him with the rather blatant exception of Albus Dumbledore; age did have its privileges -- but Granger had surprised him by seemingly accepting what he'd said, and even more by leaving it alone.  
  
He had absolutely no doubt he'd made the wrong response to her shocking accusation and that it had answered her question rather than avoid it as had been his intent; he'd known that the instant his reprimand was out of his mouth. Her widening eyes and horrified expression had been proof enough that, instead of sidetracking her, it had merely settled the matter in her mind.  
  
Severus shuddered, snarling immediately after. This was beyond stupid. He was acting like a misguided child. Miss Granger, like all the students before her, would be leaving at the end of this year, most likely never to return. That was the way of the world. To form any kind of . . . attachment to her would only result in hurt. He _knew_ that. That was only one of the myriad reasons he never even _considered_ befriending any of his students.  
  
_So, why did I allow her to get so close?_ he asked himself sourly, sighing heavily. He had no clue, but as of this moment, he was determined not to allow it to go any further. There was no sense in it. The silly girl was still at that age that friendships came and went nearly as easily as one replaced socks, while he-- No! he was not going there.  
  
A knock on the classroom jerked his head up, a scowl automatically forming. "Come in," he snarled, wondering who would be bothering him _this_ time of the evening, most everyone else was still at dinner.  
  
It was with a startling double-beat of his heart that he realized who his visitor was, and his scowl deepened as he shoved aside that odd physical reaction.  
  
_So, it's true. 'Think of the devil and she appears',_ he thought, smirking.  
  
"Just what do I owe the . . . _pleasure_ of this visit, Miss Granger?" he asked, his tone twisting the words to mean the opposite of what they implied. Ah, yes, the subtle insults were always the best.  
  
She merely grinned, dropping into the chair across the desk from him.  
  
_When in Merlin's name did she start doing that?_ he wondered with surprise. _I snarl at her, pretty much tell her that her visit is unwanted and she just grins._ He _had_ to be losing his touch! That's all there was to it.  
  
"I need your help," she said quietly.  
  
"I do not recall authorizing you to seat yourself," he sneered, glaring at her, not responding to her comment, and watched as she fought laughter -- _laughter_.  
  
"No, Sir, you did not," she acknowledged readily.  
  
Nearly grinning with malicious glee -- but stopping himself just in time -- Severus drew in a breath to roundly scold the brazen chit when she continued.  
  
"Of course, if I'd waited to sit down, you'd have merely snapped at me to 'take a seat already'," she said, grinning. "I opted to get yelled out while sitting, instead of while standing."  
  
He let out a completely unexpected snort of laughter, all the while wondering when he'd become so bloody predictable. Smirking, he nodded, conceding her point silently. "What could you possibly need my help with?" he asked, deciding that a distraction was needed, and what better one than the stated purpose of her visit. He knew she had finished up the calculations and comparisons he had asked her to do. That paperwork was sitting on the desk in his chambers. So that couldn't be what she needed help with. She wasn't working on any potion project at the moment -- not the he was aware of. He frowned. That left only one thing he could think of that she might need his assistance with, and that left him feeling vaguely uncomfortable. What _kind_ of help could she _possibly_ be thinking of? Several scenarios came to mind in rapid succession and he _really_ didn't like any of them.  
  
"I would like your help in finding a suitable family for the baby."  
  
Severus blinked several times, slow to process her startling request. That was not anywhere on his list of things she might request.  
  
"Professor McGonagall would be the person to ask that of," he said abruptly.  
  
Across the desk from him, Miss Granger 'wilted' -- there was no better word for it. "I see, Sir," she replied, disappointment echoing in the otherwise silent office.  
  
He felt an unaccustomed tug where he usually kept his seldom used sense of guilt -- at least where students were concerned. Frowning, he sighed. "Why do you think I will be able to help you with this?" he asked finally, just as she was beginning to rise out of her chair. Her nearly blinding grin pulled an echo response deep inside Severus and it was then that he knew, with all the suddenness of epiphany. He was in this deeper than he'd ever thought possible, and it would take a miracle to get him back out.  
  
TBC  
Kiristeen  
Feedback: a muses necessity. : ) And muchly appreciated. Constructive comments also welcomed and considered.  
Kiristeen kiristeen . com  
  



	32. Chapter Thirty One

AN: Hello everyone. My apologies for the delay. Gallbladder attacks and a subsequent 5 day hospital stay to have the blasted thing removed has kept me from doing much computer wise. I hope you enjoy this chapter regardless. I will also, in an attempt to make up for my absence, post chapter 32 by tomorrow. : ) As always, I'd love to hear from you, and thank each and everyone of you that have reviewed.  
  
I haven't been able to figure out the asterick thing, so have taken to using dashes to indicated sudden scene changes -- such as the flashback to a dream sequence in this chapter. Let me know if it works for you. If not, I'll keep figuring something out.  
  
Irulan: As to is Snape "still a rape victim", I suppose that would depend on your definition. I'd say he still has issues, obviously. I'd be willing to bet he'd take exception to being called a 'victim' of any kind, though. LOL  
  
Chapter Thirty one  
  
_"BLOOD TRAITOR!"_  
  
Draco Malfoy jolted out of sleep, panic stricken, heart pounding wildly against his ribcage. He gasped, jumping up from his seat on the Hogwart's Express.  
  
"Whoa, mate," Ron exclaimed from beside him, "you okay?"  
  
Heart still racing, his eyes feeling as wide as was humanly possible, Draco started, turning to stare at the Gryffindor beside him in surprise. "I'm fine," he muttered before darting out of the compartment. He heard Ron calling after him, but except for a quick, "I'll be right back," Draco ignored him.  
  
It didn't take him long -- objectively -- to reach the nearest loo. Subjectively, however, it was the just about the longest two minutes of his life. He knew there were tears streaming down his cheeks; they'd started the moment he'd made it out of the small private compartment. Absurdly grateful that no one had seen him, Draco slammed the door shut behind him and quickly locked it securely, the metallic click sounding loud in the tiny room.  
  
Shaking, angrily dashing at the stubborn tears, Draco turned and allowed himself to slide down the wall to sit on the floor.  
  
"It was just a stupid dream!" he told himself angrily, once again rubbing at his eyes in a vain effort to stem the flow of obnoxious tears. Unfortunately, he could no more stop their flow than he could stop his dream father's words from echoing through his brain again and again.  
  
- - - - _"You're failing your duty, Draco. Restore our honor, Son. Cleanse our name. Kill the child!"  
  
"No," Draco murmured, horror racing through him.  
  
"Traitor!" his father hissed angrily, slowly drawing his wand.  
  
"No, Father, I'm not. I swear it! Please!" Draco pleaded. "I can prove it. I'll do anything."  
  
"Cleanse our name," his father repeated, his wand half raised.  
  
"No, Father, please! Anything but that. I can't do it."  
  
His father's eyes closed briefly, and when they opened they were filled with such shame and disappointment that Draco physically flinched backward. "I'm sorry," he apologised fiercely. "I'm _so_ sorry!"  
  
"You are no Malfoy," Lucius intoned.  
  
Draco's eyes widened in absolute horror. "No!" he shouted, denying the hateful, horrifying pronouncement.  
  
"There is only one way to deal with filthy little traitors like you."  
  
Draco didn't wait around to find out what came next. He already knew. Instead, he turned and ran.  
  
Hollow, mocking laughter followed behind him, taunting him.  
  
"Yes! Run while you can, little traitor. I look forward to the chase!"  
  
Draco's heart clenched in terror, his stomach churning in nauseated knots.  
  
"BLOOD TRAITOR!" - - - -_  
  
Still shaking, the vivid images of the dream still repeating in his mind, Draco rose slowly and crossed the tiny distance to the sink and splashed his face. Staring at his reflection, Draco took a deep, fortifying breath and was suddenly distracted by the cloak clasp reflected in the mirror. A wan half-smile flittered across his lips as he absently fingered Ron's gift. It had been the reason Ron had disappeared on he and Potter that day, leaving the two of them alone and giving the opportunity for the other Gryffindor to corner him for that _talk_.  
  
Neither the gift, nor the talk, and been expected when he'd agreed to go to the burrow for the last two weeks of winter break, the gift least of all. But, in a way, both were partly responsible for the position he now found himself in.  
  
The clasp hadn't been the only gift he'd received, which had been even more surprising. When he'd been handed the brightly wrapped package, labeled as being from "the Weasleys", he'd been surprised, but that word didn't cover what he'd felt when he'd opened it to discover one of Mrs. Weasley's infamous jumpers -- in Slytherin green and complete with a Stylized D. No, mind numbingly shocked, might be a closer description to his state of mind at the time.  
  
Everyone knew the jumpers were something Mrs. Weasley made every year for those she considered family. Why she'd made one for him, he couldn't fathom. He was an interloper in their home, he knew . . . well, except perhaps to Ron.  
  
He suddenly shook his head as if to clear it. That was neither here nor there, he supposed and something he would never understand unless he chose to actually ask -- which was something he certainly did not plan to do. No, what concerned him more, at the moment, were the oddly impossible to suppress thoughts that conversation with the two Griffs had sparked . . . the thoughts from which, in turn, this nightmare had arisen.  
  
It hadn't really occurred to him -- not seriously -- while they'd talked, not before or after Ron had returned. Nor had he considered it for what remained of the break. No, it hadn't been until the dream last night, the one with horrifying images of neglected, faceless children lining the halls of a filthy, falling down orphanage, that he had truly began to consider the unthinkable.  
  
While he didn't know what orphanages were really like, and his brain kept telling him they couldn't possibly be that bad, he couldn't help feeling repulsed by the images of last night's dream. It stuck with him, haunting him, much as the dream from mere moments ago was doing. A large part of him balked at the thought of any child of the Malfoy line, tainted blood or not, stuck as some nameless, faceless non-entity in some noncaring institution. and that was where he got himself in trouble.  
  
A small, tiny . . . miniscule actually . . . part of him was beginning to want to keep the child from that horrifying fate. The problem wasn't really that tiny little part of himself. It was the fact that the 'tiny little part of himself' was growing by leaps and bounds that was the problem. He had no clue what Granger was planning, though he doubted she intended to keep the child, and that was also a root of his dilemma. Without knowing what she planned, it made this more of an exercise in theory rather than reality.  
  
He sighed, grinding his teeth together in frustrated irritation. He should simply forget the whole thing. He knew that. He didn't need today's not-so-subtle reminder of his familial duty to tell him that. The child Granger carried was a half-breed disgrace to the Malfoy name; one that should be buried and forgotten, never honored with so much as the briefest of thoughts. He cringed as the thought, 'literally', shot through his mind.  
  
He gagged, lunging for the toilet, knowing all the while that his father would have wanted him to do just as today's dream had indicated, and knowing just as well that he would never do it. These were chilling thoughts, ones that sent tendrils of unease snaking down his spine, and sorrow binding his chest, making it difficult to breathe. Merely by his decision to allow the child to live -- or rather by deciding to do nothing to actively end the child's existence -- he was setting himself aside from every Malfoy that had come before him, setting himself against his heritage.  
  
With that knowledge, came the heart rending realization that without doubt, his father -- if he'd still been alive -- would indeed have called him a traitor. A short sob escaped him before he clamped down on it . . hard.  
  
For what Draco was now actively considering, the older wizard would have gone a step further.  
  
_Blood Traitor,_ hissed through his thoughts once again.  
  
"Fuck you!" he screamed at the mirror for a moment seeing his father there. He snarled at himself when he realized what he'd done, hoping that no one had heard his nearly insane retort at nothing more than his own reflection.  
  
Once again splashing his face, he did his best to remove all the telltale traces of his breakdown. It wasn't until he'd completed his ablutions and was leaning against the sink that he stopped to wonder what Ron Weasley would think of the idea. He cast a sideways glance at the locked door as he considered the question, then frowned. Why did that matter? Either he'd do it, or he wouldn't. Ron Weasley's opinion shouldn't matter in the slightest.  
  
The only problem was, he realized, heading out the door and back toward their shared compartment, Ron Weasley's opinion did matter to him. It mattered far more than it should.  
  
He stopped abruptly, not caring one whit that he was standing in the middle of the train's corridor where just anyone might come along. He blinked several times as he processed the new idea, the faintly scary idea, then nearly groaned out loud. How could he have allowed it? It simply shouldn't have been possible. How could he have fallen in love with the Weasel? Not only was the red-headed idiot the completely wrong gender, but he was someone that even if he had been a she, would in no way have been acceptable. His father would have tied him up and locked him in the dungeons for having thoughts like this.  
  
He was _so_ screwed.  
  
A frown marring his features, Draco crossed to a window instead of returning to the compartment. Apparently, he had several decisions to make, not just one. Staring out the window, though not really seeing the passing scenery, Draco tried to sort out all his crisscrossed feelings and thoughts. Setting aside the whole Granger and baby issue as something to deal with later, he focused on his relationship with Ron, something he'd steadfastly refused to do up until this moment in time. In fact until this very moment, he'd assumed that whatever it was would run its course and he would move on, that was a strange aberration of the current overly stressful circumstances. It hadn't even occurred to him that he could actually fall in love with a guy . . . let alone a _Weasley_.  
  
Closing his eyes against this strange new reality, he desperately wished there was someone he could turn to, someone he could talk with that could understand the confusion he felt, the conflict between duty and what he was just beginning to realize he truly wanted. He knew what previous Malfoys had done -- scandal that it was -- but somehow he didn't think Weasley would go for being 'the bit on the side', and that was aside from the fact that it didn't feel right to him, either.  
  
"Damn it!" Draco hissed, feeling the pinprick of tears, that this time he refused let fall. He blinked rapidly, swallowing hard. _Okay,_ he thought, weighing each word carefully, _it all comes down to what I believe is more important._ He laughed. It seemed so simple, thought that way. Yes, so very simple and oh so very confusing at the same bloody time. What if he chose wrong? He had a responsibility to more than just himself.  
  
Problem number two: he wasn't even sure if he believed in the rhetoric of blood purity anymore, the report he and Ron had just completed forcing several unpalatable facts into his brain, the main being that the purebloods were breeding themselves out of existence. That was something he'd already known. Unfortunately, every reason he'd been given for that incontrovertible fact was wrong. Well, not every single one. The report did actually support the fact that mixing with actual muggles wasn't a good thing, not for magic ability anyway.  
  
_Yes, but that corrects within a couple generations_.  
  
Draco frowned at the unbidden thought. He was bloody well trying to find a compromise between what he'd believed all his life and what he'd had a hand in proving -- to himself anyway -- and he didn't appreciate the sudden arising of what he could only describe as a bloody conscience. He was allowed little white lies to himself at least, wasn't he?  
  
_No._  
  
"Oh, sod off!" he told the interfering voice, knowing full well he was doing nothing more than arguing with his own thoughts.  
  
A soft voice to his right brought him barreling out of his thoughts. "They say talking to yourself is the first sign of insanity."  
  
Draco snorted, not bothering to answer Ron's cliched opening line.  
  
"I know guys aren't supposed to have heart to hearts and all that," Ron said quietly, directing his own gaze out the window, "but I've been told I'm a good listener."  
  
Draco turned a rather incredulous gaze toward the Gryffindor.  
  
Ron blushed a bit, smiling sheepishly. "Okay, I admit, they also added on to that, 'when you hold your temper'."  
  
Chuckling, Draco returned his attention to the view, letting silence reign for several minutes. "What do you think of me adopting Granger's baby," he asked softly, almost holding his breath in anticipation of Ron's response, "if she doesn't keep it, I mean?"  
  
"What?" Ron breathed beside him, absolute shock making the word not much more than a whisper.  
  
Draco turned and faced Ron squarely, his gaze far steadier than he would have given himself credit for being capable of at the moment. Never before had his own decisions been so dependent on someone else's response -- well, apart from his father's that was.  
  
TBC  
Kiristeen  
Feedback: a fanfic author's lifeblood. : ) And really, really appreciated.  
Kiristeen kiristeen . com  
  



	33. Chapter Thirty Two

AN: as promised, here's the next chapter, though I doubt it's long enough. And yes, I know I haven't answered the cliff from chapter 31, rest assured it will be answered. I swear. : )  
Thank you all for letting me know how you feel! The wellwishes have been incredible, and muchly appreciated.   
  
Chapter Thirty-Two   
  
It's official. Hermione was absolutely stunned. Contrary to her beliefs of several days ago, the Malfoy will _did_ have a codicil attached and she was staring at a copy of it incomprehensibly. The mind boggled, and it had been with great difficulty that Hermione wrenched her attention back to Professor Snape when he'd been informing her of the details.  
  
- - - - - -"Lucius Malfoy's personal will has no mention of possible heirs other than Draco--"  
  
_Like _that_ is surprising!_  
  
"--The estate will, the one that controls the entailed properties, does. Apparently, it's been in place for generations."  
  
Hermione's eyes widened, suddenly, quite unwillingly, picturing a time when the Malfoy family cared enough about people to actually make sure everyone was taken care of. She frowned. It didn't fit very well with her world image.  
  
"Provisions have been made for the discovery of a woman found to be with child upon the death of a Malfoy. The money will begin depositing to your Gringotts' account as soon as the tests to verify the bloodline of the child are--."  
  
Hermione's jaw dropped, and if she'd been physically able she'd have jumped from her chair. Unfortunately, her current condition precluded such dramatic gestures. She settled for shouting. "I don't want anything to do with Malfoy money!"  
  
Professor Snape's head snapped up and he glared, his eyes narrowing angrily.  
  
Hermione winced, snapping her mouth shut with an audible snap.  
  
"As I was saying," he continued with irritation. "As soon as the test to legally verify the fact that Lucius _is_ the father of your unborn child, the sum of 1,000 galleons will be deposited to your Gringotts' account monthly -- retroactive to the beginning of your pregnancy -- and will continue for the duration of your confinement. Medical expenses, should any be incurred, will also be taken care of by the estate."  
  
Pausing only long enough to make sure Professor Snape had finished speaking this time, Hermione shook her head. "Find some charity for it. I don't want their money," she repeated, this time managing to say it calmly.  
  
"Don't be stupid, child," Professor Snape snapped.  
  
Hermione bristled. She was _not_ a child.  
  
Rolling his eyes, Snape locked gazes with her. "If you _must_, Miss Granger, for your _precious_ Gryffindor morality," he sneered, "consider the money punitive damages for what he did to you. Consider this as well. Aside from power, there was nothing Lucius Malfoy cared for more than money. Picture, if you will," he continued, sneering, "his utter hatred of having any of his beloved money end up in your hands."  
  
Utterly against her will, the corners of her mouth twitched upward, and before she knew it, she was laughing. No polite, _dainty_ giggles for her, what came out of her were full-throated belly laughs that had tears streaming down her face and her arms braced across her stomach as the muscles began to ache. She didn't know why she found the concept so hilariously funny. Sure, it was irony to the core, but side splitting?  
  
It wasn't until she noticed the growing irritation on Professor Snape's face that she managed to get herself under control. Blushing, a little embarrassed at her outburst, Hermione subsided back into her chair. "Sorry," she muttered.  
  
"I suppose that your . . . hysteria . . . has ended?" he inquired sourly.  
  
Fighting against another round, Hermione nodded. "Yes, Sir," she replied. That was a good description of her spate of laughter, but then, she was entitled, and she certainly felt better now.  
  
"In that case I shall continue."  
  
"By all means," Hermione retorted, her eyes snapping wide as soon as the words were out of her mouth. She'd just snarked back to Professor Snape! She was _so_ going to get it now. To her everlasting surprise, he merely deepened his glare before returning his attention to the parchment on his desk.  
  
"Should you decide to keep the child--"  
  
"Never!" Hermione snapped.  
  
"Pray, do NOT interrupt again, Miss Granger!" Snape shouted, bringing one fist down solidly onto his desk.  
  
Hermione jumped as the sound echoed through his office, surprisingly surprised by the return of 'angry Snape'. Why? He was _always_ angry about something . . . wasn't he? Hermione frowned as she thought back over the last several months. It came as something of a shock to her to realize that he hadn't yelled or truly sneered at her much at all in the last month. It had happened so slowly that she couldn't really pinpoint the moment she'd stopped expecting it the moment she opened her mouth.  
  
She blinked, staring sightlessly at the dark professor seated across the desk from her. The thought was a bit numbing. When had she become so comfortable around the snarkiest of Hogwart's Professors? Preferring his brand of . . . sameness was one thing, this _ease_ was something else entirely. She liked it; didn't understand it, but liked it. When she returned to awareness, the professor was still speaking, and she had to wonder if she'd missed anything.  
  
"You cannot make an informed decision on the best interests of the child -- something you _claim_ to be interested in -- without _all_ the options . . . even the uninviting ones."  
  
With her newfound awareness, Hermione noticed the heat in his voice slowly dissipating as he spoke and wondered why. All of Hogwarts knew -- students and professors alike -- that once the potions master went on a tear, he could stay on it . . . a very long time.  
  
"You've asked me to assist you, Miss Granger. I have agreed," he continued shortly. "As such, I will be thorough in my investigations, and you will _listen_ to what I have to say." He paused, eyes narrowing as he stared at her measuringly. "Are we clear?"  
  
Hermione nodded slowly. "Yes, we are," she agreed. "As long as _you_ are clear on the fact that while I'll listen, I may or may not _take_ your . . . suggestions."  
  
Snape smirked so broadly it could almost be considered an actual smile. "Of course not," he practically purred. "Far be it for a _Gryffindor_ to take the sound advice of a Slytherin."  
  
Snorting, Hermione grinned. She was beginning to realize that Snape could be funny . . . when she wasn't taking his acidic comments to heart.  
  
His expression quickly turning serious, he breathed in deeply before continuing. "As I was saying before your childish interruption; giving up the child for adoption ends all monetary support. If you raise the child yourself, a trust fund with the initial amount of 10,000 galleons will be set up for the child. It and its ensuing interest will be available when the child reaches the age of 18. Additionally, the monthly sum of 1,000 galleons will continue to be deposited into your account."  
  
She frowned, not liking what she was hearing. "You mean if I don't keep the child, he or she will lose out on the trust fund?"  
  
Professor Snape nodded, leaning back in his chair.  
  
"But that's not fair!"  
  
"Oh yes," Snape retorted drily, rolling his eyes, "and I'm sure you've discovered that life is _always_ ever-so-fair."  
  
Hermione glared. He knew damn well she had found exactly the opposite. Which was exactly the point, she supposed. Life wasn't fair, and her exclamation _had_ been a bit ridiculous. Thoughts whirled as she considered what this meant, how it might affect both her and the child. There was no way she could keep it, she'd already decided that, and couldn't see much of anything changing the decision.  
  
So, she would set up her own trust fund. She didn't want the Malfoy money, nor could she see needing to use much of it -- especially with any possible medical expenses out of the way -- she would simply set aside most of what was given to her. It may not be the whopping 10,000 the estate would have settled on the child, it would still be a sizable amount. She could add 700 a month, as she truly did not see needing more than 300 a month for the duration of most of her pregnancy. She snorted, most of it would be spent here at Hogwarts, where she needed nothing but her already purchased school supplies. And since she was giving the child up, only the very basic newborn necessities would need to be purchased in preparation for its birth. She relayed as much to the professor.  
  
He nodded in agreement when she relayed her thoughts aloud. "Indeed, a sensible plan. The money will be less, but then, money isn't everything."  
  
"No, it isn't," she agreed easily. "I've certainly never seen Draco actually _happy_."  
  
An eyebrow shot upward and the professor stared at her oddly as she used Draco's given name.  
  
Hermione shifted uncomfortable, rather embarrassed at her reasons, but haltingly told him why.  
  
He said nothing in response, but did smirk when she finished. "I just might pay to watch Mr. Malfoy the first time you actually call him Draco to his face."  
  
Her lips twitching upward, Hermione couldn't quite stop the giggle. "I pictured a bit of . . . protest when I first considered it," she admitted ruefully. - - - - -  
  
That had been last night. Now she was facing the imminent return of all the other students. Surprisingly, she was looking forward to it far more than she had been at dinner. Something seemed more . . . settled now. She couldn't quite put her finger on what, exactly, it was, but it seemed a part of her was less raw than it had been.  
  
Professor Snape hadn't found any families yet, but it was early in the search. There were still over 4 months to go, after all. Drawing in a deep, reassuring breath, Hermione left behind the sanctuary of her room and headed down toward the entrance. Harry, Ron . . . and Draco, would be arriving any time now, and she really wanted to be on hand when her two best friends arrived. Circumstances being what they were, she hadn't spent much time around them since her return to Hogwarts and she wanted to try and make it up to them. That and, she admitted only to herself, she _really_ wanted to find out what the frilly heck was up with Ron and Draco. She was absolutely _dying_ to know how they managed to become friends. She would have beggared herself betting it wasn't a remote possibility in this lifetime or the next.  
  
She broke into a broad grin, her heart jumping as the front entrance came into sight. At that moment, the door opened and the three boys stepped through. "Harry! Ron!" she exclaimed, striding forward and steeling herself for any contact. Ron hesitated only the briefest moment, then pulled her into a tight hug.  
  
"You're back!" He whispered joyously into her ear before releasing her.  
  
Harry was only a split second behind him, pulling her into just as tight a hug as Ron. "Good to see you, Hermione."  
  
She grinned at them both, feeling very satisfied with herself. She hadn't flinched either time, and hadn't even felt the urge to. Now, though, came the harder part. She turned and faced Draco, the living image of her nightmare.  
  
"I hope you're not expecting me to hug you?" he said drily.  
  
Hermione started to take immediate offense, but there was just something . . . familiar about his tone, and that odd familiarity told her he didn't mean it quite the way he would have before this year. Eyes narrowing briefly, she snorted in mock disdain. "Oh, of course not, wouldn't want you soiling my robes with all that . . . purity," she retorted, her eyes dancing merrily, pretending to a 'delicate shudder'.  
  
Feeling inordinately proud of herself as three jaws dropped, Hermione turned and started to walk away. She giggled when she realized she wasn't being followed. She turned enough to glance over her shoulder. "Well," she asked, a tiny hint of her old imperiousness showing through, "are you going to stand in the doorway all day, or are we going to catch up?"  
  
When all three shook themselves and started toward her, Hermione's heart swelled, and for the very first time in months, she felt like everything really was going to be alright.  
  
TBC  
Kiristeen  
Feedback: It's the bomb, and mucho appreciated.  
Kiristeen kiristeen . com  
  
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	34. Chapter Thirty Three

Irulan -- As much as it chafes my behind to say so, there could very well be such extenuating circumstances that wouldn't necessarily make someone super nasty, just extremely stupid, careless, and/or susceptible to peer pressure. Not to say that this fictional person wouldn't still deserve punishment, because they would. I do have a picture in my mind of how things came about, and I do plan on having the details escape -- yes, I do mean escape. LOL Somehow, I think, Snape's got the 'details' locked up behind his eyes about as tightly as they can get.

AN: I'm sure you don't want to hear my long list of excuses, but suffice to say that I _really_ hate being stuck offline. Hopefully, that's a thing of the past. The bright news is, that while idling offline, I wasn't actually being all idle like. I've completed the first draft of several chapters of this story, as well as several others that have been hanging for a while. So, I should be posting without significant delays between chapters.

Chapter Thirty Three

Hermione surreptitiously watched Ron across the common room. She did it on the sly because he had been . . . fidgety ever since returning from winter break, at least he had been around her. She frowned. What she didn't get was why it had started the _second_ day back, not the first. Everything had seemed fine that first day.

Ron looked up suddenly, catching her eye. His eyes widened briefly and he paled a bit.

Hermione frowned, not understanding what the problem was. Maybe she should just ask him, though that had never seemed to work with either Harry or Ron in the past. They usually wouldn't open up with the problem until they were darn good and ready . . . her nagging notwithstanding. She sighed, resigning herself to waiting. She was actually getting used it.

She laughed then. Used to waiting? Not! But there really wasn't much she could do about it without the risk of alienating her hot tempered friend.

"Hermione?"

She jumped, startled to realize that Ron had approached her and she hadn't even noticed it. "Y-yes?"

"Can we go somewhere and talk?" he asked. "Privately."

Hermione nodded, a surge of relief flooding through her. _Finally!_ "Certainly," she replied, her relief flecked equally with nervousness. She had no clue what was bothering her friend, but she was just a little scared he might not want to _be_ her friend anymore. That was the thought that made her ache.

_Please, don't let it be that!_ she pleaded silently, doing her best not to let any of her insecurities show; though she suspected that if it had been anyone but Ron, those insecurities would have been glaringly obvious.

Surprised when Ron didn't head up to the dorms, but out the portrait exit instead, Hermione followed in silence. Not a single word passed between them as they meandered, seemingly to nowhere in particular. Just as Hermione was getting scared enough of whatever Ron had to tell her, that she was about to explode with questions, her red-headed friend ducked into an old unused classroom.

She jumped a bit when he shut the door behind them. Then before she could even turn, she gasped. Heart pounding, she felt like she couldn't breathe.

"Hermione!" Ron exclaimed, grabbing her shoulders firmly.

She let out a high-pitched shriek, making Ron flinch backward. She'd panicked. Why? Hermione didn't understand it. What was wrong with her? This was Ron! He wouldn't hurt her. 

"Oh! I'm sorry, Ron," she said softly, desperately trying to calm herself. It wasn't working very well on the inside, but at least she managed to look calmer on the outside.

"Hermione?" Ron said again, this time accompanied by a confused, hurt expression. "You're afraid of me? I could _never_--"

"No!" she exclaimed, cutting off her friends words. "It's difficult to explain." She certainly didn't know how. She didn't even know _why_ she had these panic attacks. Most of the time there seemed to be absolutely no reason for them. They were simply an occasional fact of her life now.

She watched as several conflicting emotions chased each other across Ron's face while she tried to figure out what to tell him, how to explain.

"It was the situation, not you," Hermione started. That made as much sense as anything else, anyway; more, in fact. "It was the sudden realization that I'd put myself in a situation that _could_ be abused." As soon as she said it, she knew she was right, but she also knew it was the wrong thing to say. There was no way Ron wouldn't take that the wrong way. She tried again to ease the hurt look from her friend. "It--"

"I get it," Ron interrupted flatly. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes momentarily. "I won't say it doesn't hurt that you don't, or can't, trust me, but I get it."

Hermione fought off the urge to stamp her feet in frustration. This was the first time she'd truly tried to tell anyone how she was feeling, and it wasn't going well. He thought he 'got it', but he didn't. "No, I don't think you do, Ron," she insisted, trying again. She had to make things right between them. "Otherwise you wouldn't be feeling hurt."

"What?"

She almost laughed at the confused expression on his face. She had to admit that she didn't blame him, what she'd said _was_ confusing. "The very fact that I'm in this closed room, outside of screaming distance from anyone who could help me, despite the fact that the very idea sends me into the shakes, says how much I do trust you."

Ron was frowning, his eyes focused inward. Hermione hoped what she was saying was getting through, because she had no desire to hurt him. She needed him to still be her friend. "I'm ignoring my base, gut instinct to flee and protect myself, for the very simple fact that I trust, I _know_ you would never hurt me, or even allow me to be hurt if you could prevent it."

She waited several taut moments before the tension suddenly bled out of Ron's stance and Hermione breathed an internal sigh of relief. One hurdle crossed. Now they only had to get passed whatever it was that had brought them here in the first place. Frowning, she glanced around. No chairs.

With a slight shrug, she pulled herself up onto one of the abandoned tables, using that instead. After several seconds of almost uncomfortable silence, Hermione prodded . . . just a little. "So, what's up?"

"What?" Ron asked, confused, obviously his mind still on Hermione's revelation. "Oh! Right," he muttered sheepishly, blushing a bit.

Hermione bit back a grin. She loved that look. He was adorable when he did that; reminded her of a big fluffy teddy bear when he did it.

"I want to, well, ummm--" Ron broke off his stumbling words, crossing his arms across his chest, like he was protecting himself. "That is to say--"

"Ron," Hermione interrupted, taking pity on her friend, "you can ask me anything. I just don't guarantee that I'll answer, or if I do that you'll like the answer."

Ron swallowed nervously and nodded. Taking a deep breath he spat out his question in one long string.

Hermione blinked, trying to decipher his words. A corner of her mouth quirked upwards. "Um, could you slow that down just a little," she laughed. "I couldn't make heads or tails of it."

"Are you keeping the baby?" he asked softly, blushing, his eyes firmly on the floor.

Gasping breathlessly, Hermione took a single step back. That hadn't been any of the questions she'd been expecting, and though she didn't know what he'd said the first time, it hadn't been that.

"No," she quietly, but firmly, proud of herself for not screeching the word hotly. "I'm giving it up for adoption."

Ron nodded, looking like that's what he'd suspected all along. She wondered vaguely whether he really had.

He slowly crossed the short distance between them and hopped up beside her on the table. This time he only took a moment to speak, although he still wasn't looking at her. "Have you found someone?"

Huffing in frustration, Hermione shook her head. "No," she replied flatly. "I haven't. Professor Snape found one lead, but it didn't work out."

"Professor Snape?" Ron yelped, looking directly at her for the first time since their misunderstanding.

Rolling her eyes in exasperation, she simply nodded again. "Yes, Ron; Professor Snape. I know you don't see how, but he's been a really big help to me these last few weeks." She would have said more, _wanted_ to say more, but anything that could truly explain why she trusted the man as she did, would be akin to betraying a confidence. She simply didn't feel comfortable talking about how he'd helped her and how he seemed a little different than he used to -- aside from class time, anyway. She had to admit he was still the same rude, biased bastard he'd always been, there.

Ron mumbled something under his breath that she couldn't quite hear, but she let it pass. At least the volatile redhead wasn't flying off the handle. That was, in itself, a huge relief to her. Maybe there was a chance she could keep all her friendships. That would be incredible.

"What if I said that I know someone that wants to adopt it?"

Hermione blinked, turning to face Ron fully, her mind not quite processing what he'd said. "What?"

"I said, I know someone who wants to adopt it."

"I thought that's what you said," she replied, bemused. She would never have pictured Ron as a source in her search. Her eyes widened, an unwanted thought hitting her like a lightening bolt. She hoped it wasn't who she thought, mentally cringing at the thought of the Weasleys raising the child she wanted no part of. It would make associating with them more than awkward. She just wasn't sure how she could turn them down without hurting their feelings, something she was equally loath to do. "Who?"

"Draco," he replied, and it took her several long moments to process the name, it being just about the last suggestion she'd expected.

"Draco?" she asked in disbelief, needing verification.

He nodded. "Yes."

She opened her mouth several times, before managing to come up with a coherent reply, one that _wasn't_ bad-mouthing the blond. "What makes you think he would be interested?" She swallowed heavily, forcing herself to say the words out loud. "Even if it is his sibling, it doesn't exactly have the purest bloodline." 

Ron frowned pensively, looking torn for several moments before he replied.

"I know you've got. . . ." He paused, cringing slightly. "Well, you've got baggage and all when it comes to Draco, but surely you've seen the changes in him, Hermione?"

She frowned indignantly. _Baggage?_ Drawing breath to retort, Hermione suddenly snorted. _Baggage!_ She laughed wryly. _You could say that,_ she admitted to herself, shaking her head. Changing her mind, she once again shook her head. "Yes, Ron, it would be difficult to miss the rather radical change in Draco's personality." She smirked, mock glaring at her friend. "Even for someone with . . . baggage."

"Sorry," Ron replied a bit sheepishly. "It was the only word I could think of."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "It's alright, Ron. I do understand. The problem is, that as much as Draco appears to have changed, become Mr. Civility himself, I've gotten every indication that he still believes purebloods are better."

"Just talk to him, Mione," Ron insisted. "Near as I can tell, he's afraid to approach you about this. Not that he'd ever admit to that," he added hastily.

"Oh, of course not." She paused, trying to ignore the pleading look on Ron's face. "Alright," she continued, not truly believing she was saying it, "I will, at least, talk to him."

Grinning, Ron impulsively hugged her briefly. "Wicked! You won't regret it. You really won't."

She smiled wanly. _I hope not, Ron. I sincerely hope not._

"Now, how about you tell me just what, exactly, is going on between you and Draco."

Hermione grinned as Ron blushed instantly.

Oh, yes. This was going to be good.

TBC  
Kiristeen  
Feedback: even a sorely behind, neglectful author such as myself, thrives on feedback. Please, may I have some?  
Kiristeen at Kiristeen dot com


	35. Chapter Thirty Four

AN: Thank you everyone: ) I'm so relieved that the long break didn't drive everyone away. You're reviews made my week.

Terra: Sorry about the confusion, or seeming mystery with the reports. I truly thought I'd explained what they were about -- without actually going into all the boring numbers (although originally I'd started to actually work the numbers out). I will, before posting to my site see what I can do to clear that up. For now, in a nutshell, the reports simply confirm the fact that inbreeding is finally catching up with the wizarding world, and the product of that is a rise in deformities, squibs, and sterility. It also confirms, to Draco's initial dislike, the fact that the 'muggleborn factor' ceases to be an issue beyond the first generation. i.e. The children of muggleborn (assuming they procreate with an actual witch or wizard as opposed to a muggle) are just as likely, if not more so, to create magical children than the too long inbred purebloods. Hope that helps. : )

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Chapter Thirty Four  
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Hermione fidgeted nervously just inside the library entrance. Late as it was on this particular Saturday night, the large room was empty of students, barring two. She, of course, was one. Draco M-- Draco was the other. It had been three days since Ron had approached her with this odd idea, and she had spent most of the time trying to decide whether or not she liked it. Draco adopting her unwanted child.

She still wasn't certain on that score, but she had decided she would talk with him. Considering who the father was, it had a sort of cosmic irony that she did like. She had already talked with Professor Snape about it -- in a round about way. She hadn't actually told him the idea, but she'd questioned the potions master about adoption law. What restrictions, if any, were placed on who could and could not adopt a child. Some of the restrictions had truly surprised her, as had the lack of others. In both cases, it made no sense.

For instance, unless it was within a single family unit, a werewolf was not allowed to adopt. In fact, there were actually tight restrictions on werewolves even being allowed to have children of their own. On the other hand, there was absolutely no age limit on who could adopt; though, she seriously doubted whether anyone in their right mind would let someone underage actually do so.

She sighed, straightening her shoulders. She really should stop daydreaming and just walk over there and talk to the blond Slytherin. Besides, it would also give her a chance to question him about Ron. She giggled softly as the classic line, "are your intentions honorable," floated through her mind. According to Ron, it wasn't anything serious, they'd only kissed a couple times -- and it had been like pulling teeth to get him to admit that much. As far as she could tell, they really hadn't gotten as far as even serious snogging, let alone anything else. It seemed to her, however, that Ron was far more interested than he wanted to admit. And as his friend, it was up to her to find out if he was headed for heartbreak. This _was_ the prat they were talking about, after all.

She frowned at her own continued reluctance. It wasn't like they hadn't talked frequently since they'd all returned from holiday. _Right, but it's never been just the two of you._ Hermione's frown deepened. She wasn't entirely certain what all was making her so nervous about this, but part of her was scared that if she approached him without witnesses, he would suddenly revert to form. She didn't think she could handle that right now. He knew too much. He could very easily--

_Stop this right now, Hermione Granger! You're being ridiculous. Just march your behind over there and talk to the bloke._

Taking one last deep breath, Hermione started forward, intent on doing as she'd scolded.

Thoroughly disgusted with himself, Draco shoved the book away. Unable to concentrate on anything other than the fact that Ron had _told_. He had been working up the nerve to approach Hermione, when Ron had swept the proverbial rug out from under him and told the girl himself. He'd been a bit peeved with the Redhead at first, pre-empting him like that, but now he was simply worried. It had been three days -- three _whole_ days and Hermione had yet to acknowledge the situation.

The whole thing was perfect, if he wanted to break free. Ron was right, at least partly. There was importance in maintaining family traditions; Draco would never agree there wasn't. But maybe, just maybe, he could start some new ones. That report he and Ron had done was frightening, facts and figures that if you didn't know what they referred to were little more than scratches on parchment, but that ultimately spelled doom for the wizarding way of life. Maybe he, of the powerful Malfoy name, could be one of the first to change that. Just maybe his name really did mean enough that others might follow his leadership.

Because this adoption was more than an old pureblood line adopting a half-blood. That had been done before, many times. Usually, they were set up as family, but not. They weren't put in the family tree, and did not use the family surname, so could not 'taint' the family line.

This was different. This was the Malfoy line, legally acknowledging one of its own blood via the instrument of adoption. A Malfoy half-blood, living _as_ a Malfoy. Even if he, Draco Malfoy, last of the pureblood Malfoys had an heir after this, the line would forever be marked as impure. It would be historic. It would either cement the Malfoys into this new era, or it would cremate the remains of a once powerful family. He didn't know which it was, but for once in his life, he was willing to risk it. It felt right.

Unfortunately, it was Hermione's move and she had yet to make it, leaving Draco on tenderhooks waiting to see what her decision would be.

_What if she says yes!_ Draco suddenly panicked. Thinking about adopting was one thing, but what if he actually ended up with the kid? He was only 17 . . . well, almost 18. What did he know about babies?

_Right, like she'd be even remotely interested. She probably wrote you off the moment Ron told her._

He slumped in imagined slight, certain she'd chosen against him. There was . . . history between them, after all. What hope did he have? It was all he could think about. He'd been driving Ron barmy with questions as to why she hadn't yet responded, he knew. In fact, he was pretty sure that Ron was ready to toss him out the nearest window if he complained one more time. Hence his presence in the library so late in the day. Normally, right about now, he'd have long been finished for the day and spending his time flying, or with Ron, or even both.

And Ron; what was he going to do about Ron?

Before he could get started on _that_ particular subject, movement caught his attention. _Hermione!_

She was headed straight toward him, and he fought not to get his hopes up. This was Hermione, after all. It wasn't exactly unusual to see the girl in there. In fact-- Oh, frag it! He stood slowly, nodding to the Gryffindor as she approached.

_There, not to obvious that, just an acknowledgement that she's here, nothing more._

"Can we talk?" she asked softly, eyes darting to the floor.

Adrenaline flashed through him. _This is it_

"Of course," he replied, equally quiet, gesturing to the chair across the table from himself. He waited until she'd seated herself before resuming his own. And then, despite every desire to simply blurt out his question, he waited.

"Ron informed me of your request," she began, just when Draco thought he'd burst.

He swallowed convulsively as he nodded again. "And you've come to a decision then?"

Hermione's eyes bore into his, as if trying to access his very soul. If he didn't know better, he'd have sworn she was attempt some form of wandless legillemancy. "No," she said finally, surprising him.

"No?" he repeated questioningly. Why was she here then? What did she want?

"Why?"

Draco frowned, blinking in confusion. "Why what?"

Across from him, Hermione huffed in frustrated annoyance. "Why do you want to adopt this baby?"

_Why do you care?_ he thought, his mindvoice sharp with his own irritation. He almost asked the impertinent question aloud, but managed not to, believing in this case that silence, as opposed to discretion, was the better part of valor.

"Several reasons," he finally acknowledged.

Impatience finally winning out in the Gryffindor, she leaned forward her eyes hardening. "You're not helping your case, Draco. Tell me why you want to adopt this particular child."

He remained silent for several seconds, attempting once again to sort through his own muddled thoughts. He wasn't entirely certain himself, so how the hell was he supposed to explain it to her? "Well," he began carefully, going on to explain the very thoughts he'd had earlier.

She listened, frowning briefly every now and then, but didn't interrupt him once. When he finished, she sat there, just staring at him, weighing him, his worth. "What about the child?"

"What?"

"It doesn't sound like you care about the child, just about what it can do for, or to, you," she said finally.

He couldn't take it any more. He had to ask -- albeit more politely than he'd thought the question. "I thought you hated the baby."

She blinked, seeming shocked by his statement.

"I mean, why is it so important to know why? Why do you care all that much?"

"I don't hate it." At his sharply arched eyebrow and pointed look, she hastily backtracked. "Yeah, okay, so I do, specifically, but not generally."

_Say what?_ Something of his confusion must of shown through, because she huffed again.

"Bloody hell. My feelings are so mixed up I don't even understand them myself, how the hell am I supposed to explain them to you?"

Draco was momentarily set back by the seeming echo of his own thoughts, but rallied quickly. "I couldn't have said it better myself," he replied honestly.

Her eyes softened at that. Confusion, it seemed, was something she well understood. He could believe that. "I hate the fact that it's inside me, growing, taking its life from mine. I hate the memories it rips out of my soul every single time it moves. I want it gone from my body and I want it gone from my life."

Sure sounded like hate to him.

"What I don't want," she continued, surprising Draco, "is to abandon a child who has done no wrong to a life of neglect and or misery. I don't want it, but I do want it taken care of. I want it to grow up to live a happy life; a life away from me."

Draco found himself nearly speechless, her profound words taking his breath away. She had bared her soul to him, and done so eloquently. In all honor, he could do no less.

"Hermione, I can't tell you why specifically. It's all mixed up inside me. All I can say is that it feels right."

"Okay," she replied slowly. "I've only got one more question then."

"And that is?" Draco prompted when she didn't continue.

"Are you just doing it because 'it's the right thing to do' -- insultingly enough, she looked rather disbelieving as she asked that -- or is this something you actually _want_ to do?"

He thought he'd already answered that. He took his time to think about his response, however, as obviously his response had left something to be desired. "A little of both," he admitted. "I do think it's the right thing to do -- and I really am beginning to hate that phrase--"

Hermione laughed -- sort of.

"But it's also something I really want. I can't explain why; I just do."

"Fine."

"Fine?" he asked, excitement beginning to stir. "As in, you'll let me?"

Once again smiling slightly, Hermione nodded. "Yes, I will."

Draco had to hold himself in his chair to keep himself from jumping up and shouting, as it was, he couldn't hold back a genuine grin. "I'm going to be a father," he said softly, completely unaware of the light dancing in his eyes and he did so.

"Oh!" he exclaimed suddenly, jumping up from his seat. "I've got to tell Ron," he continued, hurriedly grabbing his things, preparing to rush out the door. Something in Hermione's lip biting expression stopped him cold. "What's wrong?"

"What? Nothing," she replied, still looking amazing hesitant.

It certainly wasn't the most believable 'nothing' he'd ever heard.

"Madam Pomfrey will be performing the magical equivalent to a sonogram tomorrow. I thought maybe you might, well, like to be there."

"What does a 'sonogram' do?"

"Makes a picture of the baby, so she can double check that everything's all right."

"We can see the baby? While it's still inside?"

Hermione nodded.

"Wow. Yes, I'd love to be there." It was his turn to hesitate.

"Okay, I can see it's my turn to ask. What's wrong?"

Draco smirked. "Nothing's wrong," he replied, knowing he sounded a heck of a lot more sure of that fact than Hermione had just moments ago. He did have a question he wasn't sure he should ask, though.

Hermione just looked at him.

"Could I bring Ron along, too?"

Hermione's eyes widened in surprise, which swiftly changed to light with a kind of satisfied, knowing glint . . . kind of like the headmaster had half the time. It was unbelievably unnerving, especially since he had no clue what it was about. "Sure."

"Great!" He paused only long enough to discover what time and darted out of the library, temporarily forgetting about required Malfoy decorum.

Hermione smiled softly as she watched the usually proper Slytherin -- except when dueling with Harry, of course -- run from the libray, happiness veritably radiating off of him. As the main library doors swung shut behind the blond, she found herself far more comfortable with the future. Suddenly, she could see a life beyond this pregnancy; a life that didn't include diapers, bottles, nor an unwanted child.

Her grin grew wider as she continued to stare at the exit. She was also now quite certain that she didn't need to worry about Ron anymore either. As far as she could tell, Draco returned Ron's unadmitted feelings. She sighed, a feeling of contentment stealing through her for the first time since the deatheaters had turned her life upside down. Everything just might turn out alright after all.

TBC  
Kiristeen  
Feedback is really the tops. Please let me know what you think.  
Kiristeen at yahoo dot com


	36. Chapter Thirty Five

**AN: I'M Back: ) After seemingly forever stuck offline, I'm back and in business. Those of you still interested will all be happy to note that I've written the first/ second drafts of chapters 36 through 43 on this story. Those also following Mother's, Witches. . . . won't be quite as happy, but I have written two more chapters on that one, as well. It's still being extremely stubborn, but I'm getting there. The next chapter of that story will go up later tonight.**

**I'm hoping this story hasn't been completely forgotten.**

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**Chapter Thirty Five**

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**Draco hadn't even reached the first cross corridor outside the library when he pulled himself up short, Malfoy dignity firmly reasserting itself -- aside from the slight blush that bloomed across his cheeks as he realized how he'd been acting. Firmly putting it out of his mind -- after a quick, covert glance around him, just to make sure no one had seen him act so . . . foolishly -- he resumed his course. This time, however, he moved a bit more slowly, his thoughts whirling. He'd taken the first step to getting what he truly wanted -- even if he had only recently been remotely willing even entertain the thoughts he was currently having.**

**Just as he reached the entrance to the Gryffindor common room, it hit him again. _I'm going to be a father!_ he thought, the idea truly making him just a bit woozy. What did he think he was doing anyway?**

**"Are you just going to stand there wool-gathering, or is there something you want?"**

**Startled from his shocked meanderings, Draco frowned at the portrait. Cheeky thing! "Of course, I'm not," he retorted sharply, stepping forward to knock on her frame. His raised fist never connected -- well, it did, but it was as the portrait swung open. He'd never put much stock in fate, but he was tempted to consider it as he quickly pulled his next knock so it wouldn't land on the very person he was looking for.**

**Draco took a startled step back as Ron did the same, letting out a short yelp as he tripped over the threshold, falling back inside the common room.**

**He couldn't resist. "Graceful," he offered drily, smirking at the redhead, even as his heart pounded in his chest. He had so much to tell the Griff; so much, that he didn't even know where to start.**

**"Funny," Ron retorted, glaring, clearly not meaning it.**

**Despite the momentary distraction, Draco's mind quickly returned to his main purpose. **

**"She agreed!" he blurted, then grinned widely, unable to stop his nervous happiness from showing through.**

**Ron's glare instantly melted into an ear to ear smile, and jumping to his feet, exclaimed, "wicked! Time to celebrate, then."**

**Draco could only agree, and hopefully Ron would be agreeable with his idea. The very thought made even his _toes_ tingle. "How about--"**

**"Malfoy!" Potter shouted, rounding the corner into the hall where Draco and Ron were standing.**

**"What?" he snarled, entirely unhappy that the second Gryffindor had interrupted. He and Ron had had so little time alone since returning from holidays -- what little they'd had, had been marred by his own convoluted thoughts, then later by his impatience -- that he had been looking forward to spending quality time with the only Gryffindor he truly liked.**

**_Don't you mean_ loved**

**Potter stumbled to a halt, clearly taken aback by Draco's belligerent tone, and judging by the quick, suppposedly covert, glance he threw toward his house-mate, by Ron's presence. As the Gryffindor Golden Boy curled in on himself, Draco was fascinated to watch his already short classmate lose several inches as he apparently tried to disappear into himself.**

**"What's wrong, Harry?" Ron asked, immediately stepping forward and putting an altogether too friendly hand on Potter's shoulder.**

**Draco didn't like that at all, but forced himself to disregard it. Now was _really_ not the time to start displaying jealousy.**

**Potter continued to look troubled, and now indecisive as he stared at Ron, his teeth worrying his lower lip until Draco thought it might actually bleed. Suddenly, though, he seemed to come to a decision and turned his full attention to Draco.**

**"It's happening again," he said flatly.**

**Draco's eyes widened, very glad he hadn't forgotten to research those spells . . . despite all the _other_ concerns distracting him constantly.**

**"What's happening, Harry?" Ron asked instantly. Confused, and looking very worried on top of that, he looked from Potter to Draco and back again.**

**"When and where?" Draco asked, over-riding Ron's question. If he was even remotely right, time was of the essence, especially since so much time had passed already. His research had indicated that most of these spells were short term, most lasting no more than a year, some lasting only a matter of months. Of course, this would have been so much easier if Potter would have been willing to go to Dumbledore. Unfortunately, he'd been so worried that the old coot would think he'd gone round the bend that he'd been unwilling to risk it. It really boggled Draco's mind that the Gryffindor Golden Boy would rather trust his help than go to the headmaster. It seemed wrong, somehow.**

**Swallowing roughly, Potter focused his attention on Draco, steadily meeting his gaze. To Draco's experienced eye, it seemed as though the Griff was trying to ignore Ron's presence entirely . . . not that Draco could blame him, considering the subject matter under discussion. "I-- I was in the library. About ten minutes ago."**

**Draco nodded firmly. "Right then. To the library," he replied, and without waiting for a response -- or for agreement, for that matter -- strode off. If he started with the assumption that Potter wasn't actually as nutty as a fruitcake -- which surprisingly, he hoped was the case, since Potter being insane would put a very nasty crimp in his life -- there were twelve different possible reasons that the Griff would be hearing the youngest Weasley. None of them were good; though, he had to admit that any one of them would be better than the alternative -- that being that Potter had gone off his nut.**

**Not bothering to look back to make sure the other two were following -- hearing their foot falls was enough -- Draco silently made his way down several sets of stairs, detouring once, when one staircase stubbornly decided it needed to move when they were exactly half way down. He could hear Ron repeatedly ask Potter what was going on, and listened as Potter consistently told him, 'later'.**

**He shook his head mentally. While he agreed that it would be . . . kindest not to tell Ron what was happening, he seriously doubted that Ron would let it lie. It would probably be less trouble, overall, to just get it over with. "Bloody hell, Potter! Just tell him, already."**

**"Tell me what?" Ron demanded, red-faced and visibly angry, his fists clenched at his sides.**

**Potter sighed, his normally bright green eyes dulling a little. He hesitantly turned to Ron, dropping his gaze to the ground as he did so. Slowly, he stumbled through his story; the sleeplessness as night after night, he'd heard Ginny calling for help; the screams of terror and helplessness he'd heard from her in abandoned corridors. He told of hearing her most often, and most clearly, in the library, and how, after he'd left Hogwarts he'd stopped hearing her at all.**

**Ron frowned deeply, and opened his mouth several times during Potter's recitation, but he always closed it again without interrupting. He shook his head as Potter trailed off, and it was clear to Draco that Ron thought his best friend had completely lost it. "Malfoy said it's possible that I haven't lost my mind, that Ginny might really be--"**

**Ron, furious, rounded on Draco, then. "What were you thinking, telling him that!" he demanded. "Giving him false hope. I thou--"**

**"Because, _Ron_, I don't believe it's false hope. There are about a dozen possibilities I can come up with off the top of my head. I'm sure I could find more, if I did a little more research."**

**Ron blinked twice, staring at him stunned, seemingly deflating before his eyes. "What?"**

**Draco swallowed at the raw, confused, tentative hope he heard in Ron's voice. It reminded him, painfully, of the morass of conflicting feelings he'd suffered upon finding out he would shortly be having a sibling . . . a half-blood sibling, at that. "Don't get your hopes too high, Ron," he said after several tense moments. "I seriously doubt she's actually _alive_. I do think, however, that her spirit might be trapped somehow."**

**Ron didn't look good, Draco realized, looking paler than the Slytherin usually did.**

**"You going to be okay?" Potter asked quietly. "You need to sit down?"**

**Ron nodded. Draco had to wonder if the questions had really registered, and if they did, which one his nod was in answer to. Or perhaps, it answered both. He quietly took hold of a Gryffindor elbow, while Potter took hold of the other, and together they escorted the shaky 7th year to the nearest seat inside the library.**

**Ron didn't say a thing until he was safely ensconced in a seat. He looked up, his expression -- scared hope. "She might not be . . . gone? Not completely?" he asked finally, dividing his gaze between him and Potter. They shared a look, then both nodded.**

**Ron grinned quite suddenly, the crooked delight utterly transforming his face. "Well, then, what are we waiting for. Do whatever it is you came to do. We have to solve this mystery."**

**Potter chuckled, albeit sadly.**

**Draco, even, couldn't not respond. He nodded, and moved toward the center of the room. "Do you hear her now?" he asked, casting a glance over his shoulder.**

**Potter shook his head. "No."**

**Draco pursed his lips, deep in thought. That crossed off about three possibilities. With those three curses, she would be calling continuously, or virtually so. He carefully considered all the evidence given so far and finally chose the most likely candidate. Raising his wand, he carefully waved the point in a full, measured circle, twice. Upon finishing the tiny circles, he brought the tip down sharply, whispering the required incantation as he did so. The next few seconds passed with heavy expectation. He slowly turned in a circle, surveying the entire main room of the library. Nothing.**

**"That's one down," he muttered quietly, and with a slow breath proceeded to his second choice. **

**"Next time," Ron whispered encouragingly.**

**Potter whispered something to Ron that Draco couldn't quite make out.**

**Draco nodded his acknowledgement to Ron before beginning the next detection spell. He just hoped that he discovered the right one _before_ they'd spent hours in the bloody library. He had already spent more time in the library this year than in all the preceeding years at Hogwarts. Of course, the wince and the brief dimming of hope in his red-haired friend's expression, had absolutely nothing to do with is desire to get this settled quickly. Add to that, he really didn't think Ron could take hours of getting his hopes raised and then dashed over and over.**

**"What is going on here!"**

**xxx**

**Hermione frowned. So far, she'd checked just about everywhere and nobody she wanted to find could be found. She very nearly stamped her foot in her growing frustration. She needed to talk to someone, dammit! She sighed, her shoulders slumped. Lately, when she really needed to talk, she went to Professor Snape. And no, she could not pinpoint the exact moment she entered an alternate reality where it was reasonable to think of the prickly potions professor as a confidante. He was, however. **

**Unfortunately, she couldn't very well talk to the man about himself, now could she? Truth be told, she was beyond confused. Oh, she understood that they had somehow moved past the standard student/professor relationship, and that she could state unequivocably that she considered him a friend -- she admitted that to herself some time ago. What had her confused was the guilty feeling she got when the professor stared at her like she'd grown a new head or something -- and that hurt look at the end. That was almost killing her. The thing was, she hadn't even meant the words she'd almost said the way they would have sounded, and the way she _knew_ they'd been taken.**

**"You're going to do, what?" he asked, utterly gobsmacked -- at least that's what his expression made Hermione think.**

**She frowned a touch. "I'm giving the baby to Draco."**

**His lips thinned as he pressed them together, the sneer of old making a somewhat surprising reappearance. "You're giving the care of the baby you claim you want to see raised with _love_ to the boy who has spouted pureblood propaganda and tormented you for the last 6 years?"**

**Stung by his implied accusation, Hermione straightened defensively. "In case you hadn't noticed, _Professor_ Draco has changed," she sneered back. "_Some_ people are capable of that, you know."**

**Professor Snape drew himself up to his full intimidating height, first year scowl firmly in place. "And just _what_ is _that_ supposed to mean?" he demanded, glaring.**

**Hermione lifted her chin defiantly, resolutely ignoring the fact that she was deriding the professor who could strip her house of every point earned this year. A part of her twinged a little at that. She might not care much about house points any longer, but many in her house did, including some 7th years. "Exactly what I said, Sir."**

**His eyes narrowed. "Yes," he drawled, his voice deep and menacing, his sneer growing more pronounced as he continued, "and I suppose you're very Gryffindor nature makes you trust that this apparent change is permanent? That the moment he has what he wants, he won't revert to type?"**

**Anger growing, Hermione stepped closer to her irate professor, not stopping to think why the wizard cared one way or the other. "Do you really think so little of my intelligence?" she asked, not pausing for breath before continuing, not wishing to give the wizard in front of her time to answer her mostly rhetorical question. "The Draco Malfoy who existed before this year, wouldn't have gone to the Burrow for Christmas -- and enjoyed himself there," she ranted. "He wouldn't speak civilly to me, let alone be actively nice, and help me. He wouldn't be so overjoyed at the thought of seeing his sibling before it's even born that he forgot all proper Malfoy dignity that _ran_ out of the library just because he wanted to tell Ron immediately. For that matter, he sure as hell wouldn't be dating _Ron_." Hermione didn't know what force made Professor Snape remain silent until she finished her unthinking rant, but, even through her anger, she was grateful he had.**

**"Little Draco Malfoy got excited, how _thrilling_," he sneered, condescension rank in his voice. "And with all of your _vast_ life long experience, you're such an expert at--" The professor bit off the rest of his words, visibly restraining himself. It was the first time Hermione had _ever_ seen him make the effort once he got rolling. A deep breath, eyes closing for several long, silent moments, Hermione was shocked to see a sad expression flitter across his face before it was swiftly hidden. When he continued, however, his voice was devoid of anger, his earlier confusion, and what had been rapidly growing condescension. "I would have thought, Miss Granger, that if this year had taught you anything at all, it would be not to trust any Malfoy."**

**She gasped, tears springing to her eyes and his reminder -- unnecessary reminder -- of what had happened at the beginning of this year. It took her several moments before she could get her voice to work. When she did speak, she carefully controlled her voice. If she let loose now, she really would lose every house point they had. "What this year has taught me, Sir, is that I cannot live hating an entire family for the actions of one man."**

**Eyes narrowing angrily, seething pools of black oil, Professor Snape strode forward until he was very much in her personal space. "So you're just going to forgive and forget, trusting the care of an innocent babe to him?" he questioned, then suddenly let out a huff of clear frustration. "How?" he demanded, perplexed.**

**"It isn't a question of how, professor," she explained, now quiet. "I had to. For my own sanity, I had to. I don't want to end up--"**

**Oppressive silence descended, her bitten off words falling on the floor between them.**

**"Get out!" Professor Snape bit out, his fists and jaw clenched, his face growing red with his efforts at control.**

**"But--"**

**"GET . OUT!" he roared and Hermione fled, spinning around toward the door and running, one hand supporting the growing weight of her belly.**

**Tears streaming down her face, she raced to find the comfort of friends.**

**Calmer now than she had been -- two hours of searching the castle for any one of her three friends had that effect -- Hermione let out of frustrated huff. She so badly wanted to go back and apologize for her accidental insinuations. That final look of rage had hurt written all over it, and she couldn't stand that she had been the one to put it there. She wasn't sure why she'd said what she had -- despite the fact that it truly had been part of her motivation. When she'd decided to separate the two Malfoy's in her mind, not wanting bitterness to rule her life -- like it had that of her Professor -- had been one of several motivating factors. She shouldn't have told him that, though. At least, not like that, not in anger, not as an insult. After all, brought up differently, it might not have taken as an insult. _He_ was the one, after all, that had brought up the comparison in the first place.**

**New tears sprang to her eyes as she realized she may have just destroyed any semblance of friendship she had managed to cultivate with Professor Snape. "Damn it all to Hell and back!" she exclaimed suddenly, then winced instantly, quickly making sure no one had heard her outburst. Giving up on her search as a lost cause, Hermione headed to the one place she could be assured -- or nearly so -- of losing herself for awhile.**

**She didn't dare go back to talk to the professor until they'd both had time to calm down. Of course, she also had to figure out how to get him to listen to her apology slash explanation, without summarily kicking her out of his office. She knew very well that the moment she tried he was going to shut her down . . . hard.**

**TBC**


	37. Chapter Thirty Six

Thanks so much for all your wonderful reviews! They were heart lifting -- especially after such a long time offline. : )

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Chapter Thirty Six  
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Staring at the door to his dungeon office, Severus could not remember the last time he had felt this much shock, despite the all too many surprises that had come his way lately. Time, and his life as deatheater and spy, had made sure he'd seen pretty much both the best and the worst -- mostly the worst -- the magical world had to offer. The seemingly sudden change in that state of affairs left him reeling, something, he really didn't like . . . to put it mildly.

He snorted, deriding his own mental understatements; thoughts he would have humiliated any student -- including Slytherins -- for making out-loud. At least he'd kept the thoughts just that; thoughts. Shaking his head and rising slowly from behind the heavy wooden desk he sat behind, Severus tried to sort through all he'd just discovered, simply trying to make it make sense.

Draco Malfoy had, apparently, accepted a half-blood into his precious pureblood family . . . or would, as soon as Granger's child was born. Severus never thought he'd live to see that day. In fact, he never thought the world would see that day. Narrowing his eyes, now glaring at the door one Miss Hermione Granger had just left through, he was not certain at all which was more shocking; Draco's actions, or Hermione's.

To all appearances, completely forgetting, perhaps even forgiving, the last 6 years, Hermione was giving her child to Draco Malfoy. It boggled the mind. For someone who held grudges with the best of them, Severus could not understand how she could do it. He knew damn well that Hermione hated the child that grew inside her on one level. He'd also seen that despite her best efforts to the contrary, she also cared very much what happened to that child. She may not want it in her life -- not the Severus blamed her even the tiniest bit for that -- but she did want to personally make sure the child was well cared for. Otherwise she would have simply asked someone -- even if that someone was him -- to handle it, and then left them to their own devices. Instead, she'd been down to his office, at least once a week since she'd asked for his help, for the sole purpose of discovering his progress.

So why Draco? Had the spoiled prat -- he cared about his godson as much as he was capable of caring for anyone, but that didn't mean he held any delusions as to the state of said godson's character -- actually changed this year and he had missed it? How could he miss something that big? Sure, he'd noticed the boy was quieter, less prone to taunting others, and was even getting along with Weasley. Severus shuddered as he recalled one particular scene he'd walked in on. He could have lived forever without seeing the two of them kiss.

He shook his head. To the king of grudgeholders, it made no sense, none what-so-ever. The problem was, he'd asked her how she could forget. Her answer hadn't made any sense either, and beyond that, had inexplicably hurt. He headed for the still open door, mere seconds having passed when her words came at him again.

_I had to. For my own sanity, I had to. I don't want to end up--_

He huffed out another breath of pure annoyance. What had she meant by that?

_You bloody well know, exactly, what she meant by that!_

The problem was, he did know. That's what hurt; though, it shouldn't. As a professor, he shouldn't care that she thought him petty, and apparently completely without merit. She didn't want to end up like him. She may as well have said it, for all the difference her withholding the words had done. The words may not have been said, but they'd been heard nonetheless.

"Quite the spitfire, isn't she?" Albus asked, appearing suddenly in the doorway.

Severus jumped, startled, and bit back the curse that nearly sprang to his tongue.

"Don't _do_ that, Albus!" he snapped, whipping back around and striding toward his desk.

"My apologies," Albus replied easily. "It was not my intention to startle you so."

_It never is,_ Severus thought sarcastically, but didn't bother saying it out loud.

"As for Miss Granger, she is a cheeky, impertinent, insufferable brat!" he snapped, wishing he still truly thought that. It would make everything so much easier.

Albus chuckled. "Perhaps," he admitted freely, then, eyes dancing, he continued. "She quite reminds me of someone else of my acquaintance, someone who went to school here, oh, about 20 years ago."

Why that--! He couldn't possibly! "There's no resemblance, whatsoever!" Severus snapped, shuddering at how much they, indeed, had in common, things no one should have in common.

"Of course not."

Severus glared. "Don't be patronizing, Albus. It doesn't suit you," he snapped.

"I've been watching her, lately," Albus continued, seemingly ignoring Severus' complaint, and apparently changing the subject entirely. Severus knew better than to believe he was that lucky, however.

"Really?" Severus prompted 'obediently'. _And that is a new situation, how?_ he wondered sarcastically, giving up on any harsh words actually sticking to the wily headmaster.

"Yes, Pamona was of the opinion she was beginning to fancy young Malfoy."

"Preposterous!" Severus snapped, bristling, drawn into the conversation despite himself. The thought of Miss Granger with his godson was . . . loathsome! "Mr. Malfoy's resemblance to, and relationship with, the man who brutally raped her, aside, Miss Granger has far too much intelligence to ever evince interest is someone as intrinsically shallow -- changing or not -- as Draco Malfoy!"

"So glad you realize that," Albus replied lightly, his knowing smile widening just the slightest.

Severus' eyes narrowed. He couldn't bloody believe it! He had just figured out the treacherous waters he was navigating less than a month ago, and the bloody headmaster already knew? Suspected? _Bloody hell!_ He paled. Just how bloody obvious had he been? Did anyone else suspect? Had he been making an absolute idiot out of himself for weeks?

"Amazing, isn't it?" the headmaster asked, seemingly out of the blue.

"What?" Severus asked, stumped -- not an unusual occurrence when in conversation with the blasted wizard -- but this time he had absolutely no clue what the curve the headmaster had thrown him meant.

"The power of words, Severus, to hurt . . . to heal."

Severus rolled his eyes. "Words are simply words, Albus," he replied drily, though inside he was calling himself six kinds of hypocrite, considering he had just been mulling over how much a student's _words_ had hurt. 'Simply words', indeed.

"Just so, Severus," Albus replied obscurely, rising. "Good Day," he added cheerfully, and, with a final nod, headed back for the door.

Severus sighed in relief that the strange and confusing interview was over, and that he was not going to be called onto the carpet for his inappropriate, but unvocalized . . . feelings. He would simply have to control better in the future, make sure he wasn't giving off any clues. Merlin forbid that Miss Granger ever figure it out! Even as his horror overtook him at that last unpalatable, potentially humiliating thought, he realized that his sense of relief was premature. Albus had stopped in the open doorway.

"Severus?"

"What?" he snapped impatiently, more than ready for the headmaster to leave him to his peace. Well, perhaps, horrified contemplation might be closer to reality, but just about anything was better than trying to decipher Albus-speak right now.

"Avada Kedavra are just words," Albus said softly, without turning around, "and they have the power to kill." He paused. "Just a thought," he added blithely as he disappeared into the hall.

Severus openly stared at the space where the headmaster had just been standing, a kind of numbness sneaking in on him. Much as he wanted to refuse to admit it, the headmaster's allegory had hit home. It was several minutes later when he shook himself free of his self-induced paralysis. "Now, what the bloody hell was _that_ about?" he demanded angrily.

If he didn't know better, he would have sworn that Albus Bloody Dumbledore was subtly encouraging him. He frowned deeply, snorting in derision of the ridiculous thought. Right, and next week the man would give 100 points to Slytherin, 'just because'. He shook his head. He had to be misreading the situation entirely. Obviously, Albus' reputation for near omniscience was getting in the way. There was no way the headmaster knew of his emerging feelings. The conversation that had just taken place would have been far different, otherwise. In fact, he was pretty sure there would have been the distinct possibility of his needing to pack if the headmaster even suspected, let alone knew.

It would all pass, he told himself, rising slowly. As soon as the chit left school, he would be left to nurse his wounds and move on. It had happened before -- though not with a student -- and he was reasonably sure he would live long enough for it to happen again. In the meantime, he would simply keep a better guard on his reactions.

_And, of course, you won't miss her friendship at all._

A wave of sadness swept over him as he silently acknowledged that, yes, he would miss the growing friendship between him and the-- he snorted softly at himself --insufferable know-it-all. It was, he knew, a small price to pay to avoid the greater hurt, should he cling to any kind of hope that his . . . affection might actually be returned. He shuddered at the thought of trying to maintain a friendship -- something he was not good at in the best of circumstances -- while nursing, or conversely trying to hide, unrequited feelings. It simply didn't bear thinking about.

Shaking himself out of the funk he'd suddenly sunk into, Severus strode for the door. There were children to seek out, and house points to take. That always made him feel better.

xxx

Having deducted house points from three houses, assigned two detentions, and feeling far more at peace with himself, Severus approached the library. He was about to pass Madam Pince's domain without invading, but three, softly spoken, but very familiar voices stopped him cold. It wasn't that long ago, less than a year, in fact, that hearing those three voices together meant trouble -- big trouble -- and it simply wasn't in him to pass by without checking. He still expected hexes to start flying between those three.

He stepped silently into the library, assessing the situation instantly, and what he saw angered him instantly. Young Malfoy was in the middle of casting a spell. Weasley was, oddly enough, looking timidly hopeful, and Potter was looking afraid. He had to look twice at the latter. The only other time he'd seen Potter visibly scared was when he was facing the Dark Lord, or when one of his friends was seriously hurt.

"What is going on here!" he demanded forcefully, not caring that they were in a library. Quiet be damned when it looked as though one of his Slytherins was in cahoots with a Gryffindor against another Gryffindor. All three boys jumped, satisfying Severus immensely. Draco's spell, whatever it had been, looked to have failed with his interruption, which was all to the good, as far as he could see.

Weasley was the first to break under his hardened glare. He started babbling.

"Harry thought he was crazy at first, but it turns out he might not be, and Draco knew some spells to check if it was real. Course, they didn't tell me at first."

_Of course,_ Severus thought drily, blinking at the incomprehensible babble coming from the nervous Gryffindor.

"The first one failed, but you just interrupted the second, so I don't know if it would have worked. I know it looks--"

"Weasley!" he said sharply, wanting to cut off the inane babble. It worked. "Could someone, coherently, tell me what just happened?"

Ron opened his mouth again, but Severus cut him off.

"Not you."

Glaring, but cowed, Weasley slumped, not saying a word.

Potter spoke up.

_Oh, joy._

"It's my fault, Professor," he said quietly.

_Well, that is a first,_ Severus thought in shock, _a Gryffindor claiming responsibility._ "That doesn't tell me what happened," he said sharply.

Potter slowly began explaining, and surprisingly, Severus didn't feel the need to cut him off. In fact, what he was saying was rather fascinating.

"Potter, why did you fail to mention this . . . phenomenon when you came to me regarding your . . . other visions?"

"Because, at first," Potter replied, ducking his head, "I thought I was just imagining it. Wishful thinking, you know?"

He did know, but he wasn't about to admit that.

"I didn't want anyone to think I'd gone stark raving nutters," he admitted quietly. "I figured that if I kept telling myself it wasn't real, I would eventually believe it and it would stop."

"Go on," encouraged sternly. Potter's tendency not to trust adults had to stop somewhere. One of these days it really was going to get him killed -- Dark Lord or no Dark Lord. "Just when did your _opinion_ change?"

Taking a deep breath before speaking, Potter glanced at the other two students before turning his head to look directly at him. "Christmas break."

"Go . On," Severus insisted. "_What_ made you change your mind?"

Potter mumbled something.

"Excuse me, but I thought you said, 'Draco did'."

"He did," Draco said, finally stepping forward.

Before Severus could respond, however, a terrified scream rent the air, freezing all four of them in place.

**"HARRY! Help me!"**

Breath held, all four Hogwart's residents turned slowly in place, trying to locate the source of the heart wrenching cry.

**"Malfoy?"**

"Ginny?" Hermione breathed, once again startling everyone physically present. No one had heard her enter the library.

**"Help me, please!"**

TBC  
Kiristeen  
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	38. Chapter Thirty Seven

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Chapter Thirty Seven  
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Hermione was numb. Even her academic interest (obsession?) could not keep her attention fully focused on the chaos surrounding them. The moment the initial shock had passed, Professor Snape had strode out into the hall and grabbed --literally-- a passing student --a second year Hufflepuff-- and sent the poor boy scurrying off to find the headmaster and the deputy headmistress. The kid had left at a dead run, as if the very hounds of hell were chasing him.

Now, with both school leaders present, as well as the influx of other professors, the library was as loud as she had ever heard it -- though Ron had assured her it was louder the day Voldemort died. She shuddered in remembrance of that day. It may have ultimately been a day of celebration for most of the wizarding world, but for her, it would forever be the day her world had fallen apart.

Right now, the headmaster was turning to question Harry, having completed his questions to Draco.

As she listened, she grew profoundly saddened by her best friend. _Why, Harry?_ she wondered miserably. _Why didn't you tell anyone?_ She knew he had finally spilled his secret to Draco, but that was months after it had started. _And why Draco?_ She couldn't help but be a little hurt that he had confided in the Slytherin before either of his two best friends. Then, she shook herself. _Right, and when would have been the appropriate time?_ she asked herself scornfully. _When you could barely stand to be in the same room with him? When you were obssessing over this vile pregnancy? And Ron? That's a laugh. It was his **sister** that was in question._ She sighed, silently acknowledging that Harry couldn't have come to either of them. It wouldn't have been even remotely fair to mention it to Ron, not when Harry had been so sure, for so long, that it was nothing more than his over-active imagination.

"You okay?"

Draco's voice, immediately to her right, startled a jump and a squelched screech out of her. She blushed bright red as half the room turned toward her at the sound. "Sorry," she mumbled, embarrassed beyond belief, "got startled is all." She was hugely relieved when everyone's attention turned back to the problem at hand.

"Sorry," she said again, this time quietly, and directed to the Slytherin beside her.

He shrugged. "It's all right."

Hermione hadn't missed the quickly hidden pained expression, nor the lingering -- though, fairly well masked -- unease. Having just waded through a gross misunderstanding with Professor Snape, Hermione was unable to let this one lie. "It wasn't you," she offered softly.

He scoffed, the, 'yeah, right,' clear in his dubious expression.

"I'm serious," she insisted. "I didn't even realize it was you until after I'd screamed." She took a deep breath, feeling like she was about to jump off 20 foot high cliff, without knowing what was at the bottom. "I--"

_You're confiding in Draco -- the **ferret** -- why?_ she asked herself in utter astonishment.

"--I don't handle the unexpected very well. Sudden sounds, people taking me by surprise; that kind of thing makes my skin feel like it's literally trying to crawl away. I get this flash through me, of pure unadulterated terror." She paused. "It only lasts a split second these days, but it's. . . ."

"Unpleasant?" Draco suggested quietly.

Hermione snorted in genuine amusement. "Yeah, you could say that." _Maybe he really has changed,_ she thought, amazement shooting through her -- a far more pleasant sensation than her earlier reaction, she had to admit.

"So," Draco began again, "you okay?"

She nodded absently, then really looked at the blond beside her. The answer to her current dilemma suddenly staring her in the face. She wondered if she could do it. Could she talk to him about this? Probably. The big question, though, was whether or not he could be trusted far enough to keep his mouth shut about it. It wasn't something she wanted broadcast around the school. She knew what would happen to her if anyone found out -- social suicide. She almost laughed. It's not as though she was exactly a social butterfly to start with. That didn't really bother her. What did bother her, was she was pretty sure the consequences to Professor Snape wouldn't be good, either. It wasn't as if he'd _done_ anything, though. In fact, she was pretty sure he didn't even feel any differently toward her than he ever had.

He would probably be glad to see the end of her annoying and demanding presence once she graduated. That thought brought a wave of aching sadness that swamped her with its intensity. It took several deep breaths to wade through it. Even as she calmed herself, her inner debate grew. She well knew how people could misconstrue anything -- even if what she was feeling wasn't his fault -- and she didn't want to do anything that might inadvertently harm him.

She snorted, drawing an odd look from Draco. _Unless, acting like a decent human being for a change, made it his fault._ She could see it now. 'Yes, it's all his fault. It turns out he's actually human under all that snark and bitterness. When I discovered that, I fell in love.'

Her thoughts froze, instantly. She had _not_ just thought that! She couldn't be that stupid, could she? She was the top of her class. She could not possibly be stupid enough to actually fall in love with a professor. She winced. It was even worse than that. She was a Gryffindor student falling for Professor _Snape_. She had to admit, now that she actually thought about it, that once a person got past his outer-most defensive barriers -- and dangerous ones they were -- there was a lot there to love. He was intelligent, well-spoken -- when he bothered to show it -- simply brilliant in potions, and certainly no one could claim he wasn't extremely brave.

_Isn't my life complicated enough?_ she whined silently.

Eyes narrowing thoughtfully, she continued staring at Draco, trying to decide what to do. Her sudden epiphany making her even more uncertain, especially about sharing. She stared so long, he began to shift uncomfortably.

"What?" he finally asked.

Decision made; though, she was pretty sure she was going to keep the word 'love' out of the conversation. "Could we talk?" she asked very quietly, not wanting anyone to hear. "Privately?"

Astonishment written in every line of his face and posture, Draco nodded slowly. "Certainly," he replied, rising; going so far as to hold out his hand to assist her to her feet.

She allowed the assistance, giving a small, grateful, half-smile as he released her hand. Then, sparing only the briefest of glances toward the rest of the room -- to assure herself that no one needed either of them -- she spun around and headed out of the library. She stayed silent until she found an open, empty classroom to slip inside, and as soon as Draco closed the door behind them, she cast privacy spells.

Draco arched a surprised eyebrow out her, then smirked. "If I didn't know better, I'd be getting certain . . . suspicions, right about now," he said, his words heavily laced with laughter.

Hermione rolled her eyes; though, she laughed, too. "Boys," she accused drily.

"I take exception to that," Draco retorted. "I'm very much a man, thank you very much."

Snorting, Hermione didn't bother responding to that claim. "I need the advice of someone who thinks Slytherin," she said bluntly.

Draco grinned at her, hitching himself up to sit on one of the tables. "You need tutoring in thinking like a Slytherin, do you?" he asked, laughing slightly.

"Something like that," she replied easily, leaning against the table closest to Draco.

"Okay, you've successfully peaked my interest. Why would you, the epitome of Gryffindor, need to think like a Slytherin?"

Hermione hesitated, biting her lip nervously. "I don't know how much you know about what's been going on around here, about how I've been . . . moving beyond what . happened," she said carefully.

Draco's laughter fell away, his expression suddenly serious. "Not much," he replied evenly; though Hermione could tell he was tense and wary. "You seem to keep to yourself a lot, even more than you used to."

Hermione nodded. "Yes, with one exception, I've even been avoiding the professors -- except in class, of course."

Even with the subject matter Draco let out a short laugh. "Of course," he agreed wryly, then cocked his head to the side curiously. "Who's the exception, Professor McGonagall?"

Hermione shook her head fervently. "No!" she exclaimed. "That woman alternates between being a hovering mother hen, treating me like I'm about to shatter, and hemming and hawing like she has no clue what to say."

Draco winced. "That would be . . . irritating."

Hermione laughed. "Yes, you could say that."

"So, who then?"

"You won't believe me."

He smirked. "Try me."

"Professor Snape."

He blinked twice before responding. "You're right. I don't believe you."

She laughed. "Hard as it is to believe, he's the only adult who doesn't really treat me like damaged goods."

Draco's eyes lost focus, as if in deep thought. After a couple of moments, he nodded. "I can see that. He may be nasty to you, but it's a taste of normal."

_Wow! He understands._ "Yes," she breathed aloud, amazed. "That's it exactly." A shared moment of silence descended before Hermione shook herself and broke it. "That's how it started."

Draco's eyebrows lifted to his hairline, his eyes widening almost comically. "Started?" he squeaked, cleared his throat and repeated, "started?" swallowing heavily.

"Not _that!_!" she exclaimed instantly. "Sheesh! Boys; always have one thing on their minds!"

"Oh, thank Merlin!" Draco breathed. "You scared me for a moment there."

Hermione chuckled softly, then launched into a narrative of the changes in her perceptions of the snarky professor, and the incidents that had lead up to those changes -- leaving out only a couple things, most importantly, any hints that might lead Draco to discover what she more than suspected had happened to the professor. That was not her secret to reveal, and there was no way she was going to betray him like that. She watched Draco carefully as she continued, amused to notice that his shock returned slowly, growing with each new revelation. "He has become a friend," she concluded quietly.

Draco remained silent for several long moments, then began to speak slowly, carefully. "Are you certain that you're not reading more into this than is there?" he asked.

"No," she replied bluntly, "I'm not. I'm sure of only one thing. He feels like a friend, and until proven otherwise, I'm going to continue to treat him like one."

"Right," Draco said with finality, as if telling himself to just accept it. "So what's the problem?"

"Earlier today, I managed to put both feet in my mouth, up to my knees," she admitted morosely. "I accidently insulted him."

Draco winced.

"Yes," she agreed; though, Draco hadn't verbalised anything. He hadn't needed to. Taking a deep breath, she plunged ahead, recounting the entire scene from just a few hours ago, leaving nothing out -- including the professor distrust of the younger Slytherin. She was afraid Draco might be insulted or hurt by it all, but couldn't leave it out and still get across just what had happened to make her so angry. She even brought back up the incident where the professor had initially made the comparison -- carefully edited, of course.

Draco winced several times during the course of her narrative, uttering a heartfelt, "ouch," when she finished.

"Yeah, like that helps!" Hermione snapped irritably. "Sorry," she continued immediately.

"And you need help from me because you want to get back in his good graces?" he asked. "Assuming you were there to begin with."

Hermione nodded. That was it in a nutshell. "I want to apologize for the misunderstanding, to let him know I was intending it as an insult, merely that I understand what he'd been trying to tell me all along. But most importantly, I need him to actually listen to me, or I can't do any of those things."

Draco nodded, thinking. "I saw a poster once," he said, out of the blue. "It took me a couple seconds to work out what it meant, but it's stuck with me ever since."

"Okay, and?" she asked neutrally, frowning, not sure what this had to do with her dilemma, but certain it did somehow.

He smirked. "Ready?"

Rolling her eyes, Hermione nodded. "Yes, lay on me your _great_ wisdom," she said sarcastically.

"Oh, ha, ha," he replied, then took a deep breath. "I know you believe you understand what you think I said, but I'm not sure you realize that what you heard is not what I meant."

Hermione blinked, mentally slowly down his words. She grinned the moment it clicked. She nodded then, laughing. "That'll make anyone stop for a second."

"Exactly," Draco replied. "And once you have that single moment, then this is what you do," he continued, leaning closer and whispering conspiratorially. As his instructions continued, Hermione's grin grew slowly. By the time he was done outlining what she needed to do and the basics of what she needed to say, Hermione was doubly glad she had given in to the impulse to confide in the blond Slytherin.

She was ready. Now she just needed the opportunity.

She walked over to him, laying a gentle hand on his forearm. "Thank you, Draco," she offered.

"You're welcome," he grinned, hopping down from the table. "Just one thing, well, two, actually."

"What's that?"

"One: If this backfires on you?"

"Yeah?"

"I didn't have anything to do with it."

She laughed. "Deal. And?"

"If it does work out?"

"Yes?" she prompted warily.

"I _never_ want any of the details."

"Draco!" she exclaimed huffily, blushing despite her best efforts. "I told you--"

"Look, Hermione; I'm definitely a bloke, but I'm not thick."

Hermione slumped. "Is it really that obvious?" she asked, beyond mortified.

He shook his head. "No, not until you started talking about the whole thing. I'm sure no one else knows, or even suspects, for that matter."

Sighing in relief, Hermione tried to smile. "Good." A sudden thought had her frowning again. "I don't want you to think that he's done anything to m--"

"I know."

"Good, because he hasn't."

"I know."

"In fact, I'm pretty sure this is all one-sided, doomed from the beginning."

"I know."

Nodding slowly, Hermione headed for the door. Just as she reached it, she turned to look over her shoulder. "I hope it isn't," she whispered, darting out the door.

"I know that, too," she heard him say almost as softly.

TBC

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	39. Chapter Thirty Eight

AN: Thank you all so much for reviewing! And I'd like to apologize for taking so long to update. Real life, you know. :(

ILOVEREADING: I agree that it seems out of character. I hope you keep reading, because I think you'll like where it heads. Things about that will be explained soon.  
KALEEY JAMES: Sorry about the timeline confusion. I'll see what I can do to clear that up. For the time being, it's mid to late February. : ) The thing about Ron and his parents, that was a behind the scenes reunion. I do apologize if it felt like a loose end. And I'm a bit confused myself. What didn't you get about the poster? That phrase he gave her was on the poster (taken from my own experience in real life. It was a poster that hung in my genetics and embryology class in high school.)  
GWENOG JONES: Thank you so much! Dialogue was something that initially was very difficult for me, so your review means a lot to me. : )

I hope I didn't miss any questions.

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Chapter Thirty Eight  
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Draco stared at the now empty doorway feeling utterly lost. This would not turn out well. There was no way it could. If the professor did not return his new friend's feelings even in the slightest -- which is what Draco suspected -- then Hermione was going to be hurting soon . . . badly. If, by some quirk of fate, the professor _did_ return any measure of her feelings--

_In what universe?_

--then both their lives could be ruined if things weren't handled very, very carefully. He sighed. This was just a very bad year, he decided. No one was getting away unscathed in the aftermath of _that day_. There was no one he was close to who wasn't getting run over by what happened that day, or shortly thereafter.

Shaking off the heavy sensation of dread and with one last glance around him, Draco left the classroom, making a beeline back toward the library. That problem was a little more urgent than either of Hermione's potential ones. Hopefully, though, something had already been worked out. He certainly hoped so, for everyone's sake. He wasn't quite sure what outcome to hope for, though. None of the outcomes he could imagine being remotely possible would be ideal, unfortunately. He certainly didn't think this could end with the youngest Weasley alive again. That was the only thing he was sure about in this whole sorry mess.

Other than that impossible scenario, Draco wasn't sure whether to hope they were able to help Ginny 'move on', or whether to hope that she remain as a ghost. Despite what Ron might think right now, having the ghost of his sister around during the last of his seventh year was going to be hell. Not that he begrudged her presence, or anything. He just knew how he would feel if it was _his_ sister. He certainly wouldn't want anyone he cared about stuck as a ghost.

Of course, having a sister able to float through walls, turn invisible and spy on him without his being aware of it wouldn't exactly be a plus to the situation. In fact, it would be downright annoying. Somehow, he couldn't see Ginny Weasley -- sister to the twins and sister to rule-breaking Ron -- dampening her curiosity down and letting Ron go off without doing those things.

Just as he reached the open library doors, a bright flash nearly blinded him. A pained cry of, "Ginny!" from both Ron and Potter, had Draco moving forward even before he could see properly again. It was less than two steps later that, soundly berating himself -- _Stupid, stupid, stupid!_ -- that he stopped and blinked rapidly until he could see again. Only then did he move forward, heading straight for a visibly upset Ron.

Just as he reached the red-head, Draco realized something he should have noticed the moment he stepped into the library. The elder Weasley's were present; something, he supposed, he should have expected already. This whole thing was about their daughter, after all.

Startled when Ron latched onto him the moment he got close enough, Draco stiffened briefly before forcing himself to relax. He was not used to this kind of public touching -- innocent or not -- but, despite that, he enjoyed the warm feeling of pleasure that the Gryffindor had noticed him even as preoccupied as he had to be by whatever had happened here. Draco frowned.

_What **did** happen here?_ he wondered silently, allowing his gaze to wander over the room's occupants, even as he absently petted Ron's head, soothing the rattled red-head. All the Weasley's were upset, that was understandable. The whole situation would be upsetting. What he couldn't understand was the clear anger on the headmaster's and McGonagall's faces, nor the especially sour expression on Professor Snape's.

The three professor's, along with the elder Weasley's spoke in quiet tones, too low to hear. Just as Draco's curiosity was growing to be a palpable _itch_, and he was wishing he dared ask what had happened, Ron surprised him by speaking.

"She's gone, Draco," Ron murmured.

"What?" Draco asked. "Gone? Ginny?" _Who else would he be talking about?_ he berated himself, wondering how he could have asked a question with such an obvious answer.

Ron nodded, finally pulling back from his tight grip around Draco, now looking rather embarrassed. "Sorry 'bout that."

Draco shrugged, a little uncomfortable talking about it. "As you Griffs say," he replied quietly, " 'what are friends for'."

Ron smiled crookedly, the expression fading quickly. "She was stuck between worlds, Draco. Some arse with a grudge decided that dead wasn't good enough for a Weasley. She was supposed to spend forever stuck, not able to contact anyone, not even ghosts."

Draco paled. As far as he was concerned; that was a fast track to insanity. He couldn't even begin to imagine spending a literal eternity without being able to speak to _anyone_, not even people you disliked. He shuddered, the thought sending creeping shivers down his spine.

"Yeah, pretty much," Ron agreed, obviously feeling his reaction. Ron looked toward his parents, his frown deepening. "Mum's taking this hard," he said absently. "Harder than her dying the first time, I think."

Draco followed his line of sight, his own gaze settling on Mrs. Weasley. "I get that," he replied quietly, and he could too. "That first time had to be hard enough, having your kid die on you, but then you go and find out that she wasn't completely dead, and you didn't know that. A parent would have to be kicking themselves for letting their child suffer like that, even if part of you knew there was no way you could have known."

Ron looked at him strangely. "I never thought of it that way." He huffed, then, shaking his head. "And now she really is gone, and Mum is left with no way to make it up to her."

Draco merely nodded, frowning, his mind busy with overactive scenes speeding through his thoughts. He swallowed, hard, wondering how _he_ would react in that situation. He shuddered again. It simply didn't bear thinking about . . . and he didn't even have a kid yet.

"So, how _was_ she able to make Potter hear her?"

Ron shrugged. "Don't know," he replied uneasily, with a quick glance at the adults. "That's what they're trying to figure out now."

Draco snorted. "Probably cast the spell wrong," he mused absently.

"Could be," Ron agreed, pausing. "All I know is one thing."

"What's that?"

Ron turned to face him squarely, meeting his gaze seriously. "This whole situation has really brought something home to me," he said softly. "We don't always get the time we want, or need. There's no guarantee that we'll always have enough time to waste on the stupid stuff, you know?"

Draco nodded, murmuring agreement. "Yeah, I do." He knew it well. If the unparallelled losses in that final battle against the Dark Lord hadn't taught him that, this situation certainly would have driven that unpalatable thought home.

"Good."

Startled, Draco really looked at Ron now. "Why?" he asked, wondering where the Griff was headed with this.

"Because," Ron hesitated, shifting uncomfortably. "I, well-- Ah bloody hell. I l-- really like you, Draco."

Eyes widening, mouth suddenly going dry, Draco felt a flush flash quickly through him. "Really?" he asked, wondering if Ron had been going to say what he _thought_ the Griff had been going to say. Fast on the heels of that thought was another. Did he _want_ Ron to have said that, or start to say that?

Ron just nodded, hesitant, looking as sheepish as Draco had ever seen the freckled red-head, and considering who it was, that was actually rather impressive.

Swallowing, Draco smiled slightly, feeling like he was putting himself out on a limb -- despite the fact that Ron had spoken first. "Me, too. I mean, I really like you, too."

Ron beamed, his smile spreading nearly ear to ear. "Really?"

Draco chuckled. "Yes, really." This was getting a bit ridiculous. They were both acting like a couple of _girls_.

"Good," Ron said firmly.

Again, Draco was surprised. This time by the certainty in Ron's voice. He smirked in response, pulling the red-head closer. "And why is that a good thing?" he asked, despite knowing the answer. Who wanted to like someone that didn't like them back, after all.

"Because, I'd like us to be together, really _be_ together," Ron replied surely. "Officially."

Draco blinked. That hadn't been the response he'd been expecting. "Be together?" he asked. "As in boyfriend and-- As in boyfriends?"

Ron nodded, now looking a little worried.

Draco reached out and lightly caressed Ron's jaw, now acutely conscious of the other people in the room, even if everyone was too busy with their own business to be watching them. "I think I'd like that," he whispered, even as his mind screamed at him. He could almost feel his father's spirit shudder. He ignored the sensation; though, he did wonder what his mother would think . . . if she ever found out. He still didn't know what had happened to her -- whether or not she was actually alive. The fact that he didn't know the whereabouts of his mother was an open sore in his life, something that upset him every time he stopped long enough to think about it.

He tried to shrug it off, however. He had plenty on his plate right now. If she was alive and wanted to be found, she would be. If she didn't want to be found, Draco would set about finding her anyway -- after he graduated. Right now was _him_ time.

He was jerked out of his thoughts when Ron leaned forward. The prat was going to kiss him! Right here in the library! When Ron's mouth touched his, shock held him immobile for all of two seconds, then he cast aside his reservations and responded whole heartedly. Who cared about house points? The worst that could happen was a night of detention. This was one of those moments Ron had been talking about, and it would never come again.

"Ronald Weasley!"

Draco and Ron leapt apart, both blushing wildly as Mrs. Weasley stormed toward them. Not far behind her was Professor Snape, and he wasn't looking very happy, either. In fact, he was looking rather like he'd just eaten a whole carriage load of molded lemons. Draco groaned mentally, tallying up the nights of detention _this_ was going to cause, sure now that he'd underestimated the 'night of detention'.

With a purely mental chuckle, Draco noted that red was _really_ not the color for his favorite Weasley. It clashed violently with his hair. His amusement didn't last long, however.

"Detention for both of you, tonight at seven -- _separately_," Professor Snape snapped, right on top of Mrs. Weasley's rant.

"The library is no place for such shananigans. I taught you better than that Ronald Bilius Weasley!"

_Bilius?_ Draco chortled silently. Oh! But he was going to twit Ron for _that_.

"Mr. Malfoy, report to Hagrid for your detention. Mr. Weasley, my office, seven sharp!"

Both he and Ron groaned. Couldn't he have assigned the detention the other way round?

"Twenty points from Gryffindor," Professor Snape continued, oblivious to Draco's mental complaints. "Ten--"

Draco heard Ron sigh in relief as Mrs. Weasley's patented glare was transfered to Professor Snape.

The professor sighed, his scowl deepening. "and twenty points from Slytherin."

_Apparently,_ Draco thought with sour amusement, Mrs. Weasley's glare works as well on Professors as it does on students. He, in turn, glared at Ron for the Griff's quickly hidden smirk. He could see now that being 'boyfriends' wasn't going to have much of an affect on the race for house points.

"And now that, that is out of the way," Mrs. Weasley continued, her tone far brighter than before.

Ron snapped his head to stare at his mother in horror, and Draco paled, worried about what had affected Ron so strongly. What was going to happen now?

"You two are _so_ cute together!"

_No!_ Draco thought immediately, his horror growing to match the Weasel's expression. _Both_ of them threw an appealing stare toward Professor Snape, but hat was a lost cause. Though, the man was a little green around the gills -- so to speak -- he was smirking a million galleon smirk. They were doomed! He just hoped none of the other students came in before Mrs. Weasley finished her . . . lapse into 'girly mode'.

"Mum!" Ron managed after gaping like a fish several times.

Behind them, Potter snickered. Both of them rounded on the prat, with Draco glaring and Ron hissing, "traitor!"

Potter just shrugged. "It was funny."

"Just wait until Mum catches you," Ron warned.

Mrs. Weasley spun to face Potter, something that had Draco's glee rising swiftly.

"You have someone special?" she pounced. "Who?"

Now it was Draco and Ron's turn to bite back a snicker. Ron didn't bother trying very hard.

Eyes wide, Potter shook his head frantically. "No," he denied, "no one special right now, Mrs. Weasley."

"On that note," Professor Snape interjected sourly, "I will take my leave. This has already been more than I ever cared to know about the love lives of my students." Spinning on one heel, the professor stalked out of the library, leaving Draco to wonder if the man ever simply _walked_ anywhere.

As Mrs. Weasley then hooked a different arm through one of his, and one of Ron's, Potter hit a hasty retreat, claiming -- unbelievably -- homework that needed finished, and both abandoned boys groaned, neither of them looking forward to the grilling they were about to receive.

_Okay,_ Draco thought in growing embarrassment, Mrs. Weasley pulled the two of them toward one of the more comfortable sets of chairs in the library. _This is officially one of those 'moments' I'd rather just skip!_

It wasn't until he threw a desperate glance for assistance around the library that he realized, Hermione had never shown up. He thought it rather odd, but was quickly distracted from his train of thought when Mrs. Weasley began her . . . interrogation.

TBC


	40. Chapter Thirty Nine

See the first chapter for disclaimers and warnings.

A slightly shorter chapter here. Sorry, but this one didn't want to get written. I had chapters 40 and 41 completely done and 42 half done, before I managed to write the last 1/3 of this one. LOL Hope you enjoy it.

Thank you everyone for your reviews. : ) They make my day, every single one of them.

As an apology for your wait, I'm _planning_ on having chapter 40 up late tonight.

And as a bit of forewarning, the past is going to rise up in the next few chapters a take a big bite out of one of our characters.

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Chapter Thirty Nine  
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She'd snitched Harry's invisibility cloak. She really should have asked, but Harry was all tied up with the spell business in the library, and she was pretty sure he wouldn't mind. Well, she amended, he wouldn't mind as long as he never found out _why_ she'd wanted to borrow it. Somehow, she thought he just might not be so happy about her reasons.

She shifted restlessly, hoping Professor Snape would come to his office and not go directly to his rooms. Even if she knew where those were, she wasn't about to track him down there. Not even every Slytherin trick in the book would help her in that case, she was pretty sure. She'd been waiting for twenty minutes already, though, and was beginning to lose hope.

She leaned against the wall, trying to get comfortable, making a deal with herself in the process. She would only wait another ten minutes. If he didn't show up by then, she would try again tomorrow, directly after class. She'd rather do it now, cause face it, she really didn't want to be in class with him until after they'd straightened out their misunderstanding. As nice as it was that he treated her normally, a ticked off Professor Snape was never a pleasant prospect. At least facing him now, meant any humiliation he dealt out would be done without an audience.

Just as she was about to give up -- fifteen minutes later -- Professor Snape rounded the corner. She let out a soft sigh of relief, waiting until he had nearly reached her -- but was still safely out of arms reach - before she spoke. She didn't want him to try and snatch the cloak off before she got out her first sentence.

"You once told me," she began, wincing as the professor spun around to face her, "that hatred, allowing it to fester and grow, would lead to a bitter life." She pulled the cloak off her head, letting it fall open and, despite his angry scowl, continued determinedly. "Not in those precise words, of course, but that's what I got from what you told me that day."

"So I did," he sneered, not giving an inch, his expression not softening at all. "What of it?"

_Now_ was the time for Draco's phrase, she realized, glad she hadn't started with it as the Slytherin had suggested. "I know you believe you understand what you think I said, but I'm not sure you realize that what you heard is not what I meant -- earlier, I mean."

Okay, so maybe she adlibbed a little.

The professor blinked at her twice, then snorted. "You have one chance to convince me," he offered, crossing his arms over his chest, glaring at her.

Not the most open of stances, she realized, but it seemed to Hermione that there might just be the tiniest spark of hope hidden within his intense stare. She took her own hope from that, refusing to give up in the face of his belligerent stance. "I was a typical Gryffindor," she admitted freely, causing the professor to snort once again, "speaking before thinking through my wording. I truly only meant to say that I had _heard_ you that day, and understood what you were trying to say. I had wanted to let you know that I had taken your advice and followed a different path. I also meant to say, that in order to do that, there could be no half measures. I had to cut that festering boil from myself completely. If that meant forgiving Draco for the petty things he'd done and said, then I was willing to do that.

I cannot live my life always hating. It would change who I am. If I let that happen then I truly would be the hypocrite you accused me of being. I'm still working on my feelings toward the p-- baby."

"I see," Professor Snape said quietly, his expression _still_ not changing.

It was unnerving. Hermione shifted uneasily. "Do you?" she asked, unable not to, but utterly certain he would round on her for asking him to repeat himself. He wasn't one of her Gryffindor peers. Asking him for reassurance like that was bound to cause backlash.

Letting out a heavy sigh, his eyes half closing, he nodded, surprising Hermione. "Yes," he admitted softly. "I still-- Would you take that silly thing the rest of the way off!" he snapped suddenly. "I will not hold a conversation with someone who is half invisible!"

Hermione chuckled, complying with the request.

Rolling his eyes, the professor turned and headed through his classroom to his office.

Hermione followed, hoping she was supposed to. He'd certainly given no indication she was supposed to leave. She wasn't about to ask, however, the last several months having taught her _something_ about the Slytherin.

Neither spoke as they both seated themselves, Snape behind his desk and Hermione on one of the chairs in front of it. Hermione almost broke the silence first, but something in his expression, something she couldn't quite decipher held her silent and waiting.

"I still do not understand how-- the why of it, you made quite clear. But _how_ did you do it?"

Hermione didn't pretend to misunderstand what he was asking. That very question had been the basis of their misunderstanding, after all. She drew in a deep breath, more to give herself time, than any true need for it. "I don't know how to explain it, Professor," she said softly, shaking her head. "I simply knew I couldn't continue feeling that unreasoning rush of fear every time I went near him, or someone mentioned him, or even if I so much as _thought_ about him." She shrugged uncomfortably, not certain this was what he wanted to hear from her. Nevertheless, it was all she had.

"When I first decided to separate him, in my mind, from his-- father, I resolved never to even think of him by his family name, let alone call him by it anymore."

Snape nodded, showing he remembered the conversation, even smirking.

"He, um, was a little shocked the first time I did it out loud."

Snape laughed, his smirk growing exponentially. "I have the feeling, Miss Granger, that you may have just uttered the biggest understatement of this school year."

Chuckling, Hermione nodded. "Well, he may have reacted a _bit_ more strongly than I indicated, but surprisingly, not as badly as I'd figured he would." She shrugged.

"And that was all it took?" he asked, rampant disbelief coloring his voice.

"No," Hermione replied, "of course not. That was just the beginning, the first step. It worked to separate the two of them in my mind, easing back on my paralyzing fear." Hermione ducked her head, blushing. Her real reasons for taking her 'forgiveness' further than she truly needed to were kind of embarrassing.

Snape's eyes narrowed. "What?" he asked warily.

Hermione sighed softly. There was no hope for it. He would take it entirely the wrong way if she refused to explain. "I did it because of Ron."

He blinked at her. "What?"

She slumped. "I could see, almost from the beginning that there was something . . . new between them. At first, I thought they'd just managed to become friends, but it didn't take long -- well, after I got my head out of my a-- . . . self-absorption -- before I realized that if I couldn't 'move on' so to speak, I could very well lose Ron's friendship. I couldn't handle that, not on top of everything else. I made myself try to see Draco from his -- Ron's -- point of view, try to see what _he_ saw in the prat." She fell silent then, hoping what she'd said was enough. Then, a tiny bolt of inspiration hit.

"Friends can be powerful motivators. Ron's friendship was, _is_, far more important to me than hanging on to a teenage rivalry ever could be -- no matter how nasty -- and that gave me the strength to see beyond the past." She frowned then, realizing that maybe she'd made it seem far more easy than it actually had been -- was, even now. "Don't get me wrong. I haven't miraculously forgotten it all. It's still there, both my reaction to Draco personally, and my reaction to him because of the . . . other. It's just . . . less. Each day is a little easier to see who he is now, instead of who habit -- and my fear -- wants me to see."

The Professor watched her intently for several moments, long enough that Hermione wanted to fidget under the gaze. He smirked suddenly, knowingly. "So, what you're telling me, Miss Granger, is that you're lying through your teeth about your feelings toward Mr. Malfoy, and hoping that someday, you'll really feel that way."

"No!" Hermione exclaimed, outraged, then immediately amended, "Well, okay; it was that way at first. But, when I did that, I really did start to see the changes in him. By forcing myself not to over react to every little thing he did and said, I really did begin to see he wasn't still the prat I was used to. That helped."

"What about--" the professor began, only to cut himself off abruptly.

"The other?" she finished.

He nodded reluctantly, looking as though he'd just sucked sour lemons.

It was almost enough to make Hermione laugh about it . . . almost. It was the first time, ever, she had seen the professor visibly look like he wanted to bite his tongue off. "That reaction is gut deep, but it only lasts a second or two now, and isn't as . . . intense as it was in the beginning." She offered a soft, wry smile up. "I'm starting to see a day when I don't have it at all, at least not on an everyday basis."

"Not any time soon, though."

"No," she agreed, "not any time soon."

Apparently, that was enough to satisfy the professor's curiosity, because he adroitly changed the subject -- sort of.

"If you are certain about your choice of Mr. Malfoy. . . ." he began, trailing off and watching her questioningly.

"I am," she replied.

"Then I will arrange for the proper paperwork for the ministry."

"Thank you."

He nodded, impatiently waving off her thanks. "I would suggest, however, that the two of you wait to sign the paperwork until the baby is actually born."

Hermione frowned. "Why?"

The professor glared at her. "Think. The codicil stipulated that if the child is given up for adoption, the stipend ends. The moment both your signatures are on the paperwork, you stop receiving the money you're putting into that trust fund."

Torn between her need to provide a sizeable trust fund, to prove to herself that she wasn't a bad person, simply because she wanted nothing to do with the parasite, and simply wanting it over and done with, Hermione hesitated in her response. It didn't take her long to come to the realization that having the . . . worry of it over with was more important. Mostly, she just wanted it done ahead of time, so that when the time came, she could hand over responsibility immediately. 

She bit her lip thoughtfully before speaking, trying to make sure she said it right. "Does it really matter, what with Draco being rich and all? It's not like--" She broke off, Professor Snape's deepening glare making her stop and rethink what she had been saying. Unfortunately, she couldn't figure out what she'd said wrong. "Okay, I'll bite," she said. "What did I say wrong now?"

Snorting, the professor shook his head. "I'm not about to debate you on the merits of whether Mr. Malfoy's change of heart is permanent . . . again."

Hermione laughed; though, she remained a little uneasy.

"It is entirely possible that Mr. Malfoy will, eventually, do another complete about-face. What then?" His glare hardened, and he stared pointedly at her.

Hermione started to protest, but was cut off when the professor continued.

"You can not say it isn't at all possible," he said firmly. Then shaking his head, and obviously switching tactics, continued. "And if the Malfoy assets are seized because of Lucius' activities?"

Hermione's eyes widened. "Good point," she admitted, not wanting to get into his first allegation. It was obviously going to remain a sore point between them for some time.

"Okay," she relented. "we'll sign when it's born."

Apparently satisfied with that, the professor nodded firmly. "Good."

A short silence descended before they moved on to other subjects, and for the first time ever, talked to each other about subjects not pertaining to Draco, Harry, her, the child, the report, potions, or school in general.

As she ran through the list of things they normally discussed, Hermione realized they actually did cover a wide range of subjects. It was a pleasant change, however, to stray from the 'safe subjects'.

TBC

Kiristeen,  
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Feedback: It does an author good -- that and it feels really good too. : )


	41. Chapter Forty

Thanks bunches to those of you who already read and reviewed for chapter 39.

MioneMalfoy6: Thanks for your comments on characterization. They were muchly appreciated. As to Severus' feelings, lol, he has acknowledged them, he just doesn't think he has a chance in hades, so is sublimating them in favor of the 'friendship' that has developed.

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He was a masochist. That was the only answer. He had to be. One only had to look at his history to figure it out. Why else would he willingly teach the son of his greatest tormentor? Why else would he willing risk life and limb to return to the Dark Lord's side time and time again, just on the off chance he could help win against the megalomaniac. And most especially, why else would he let that bloody chit explain herself and end up resuming the pseudo friendship that had formed between them?

He growled, throwing an irritated glance at the door she'd left through. Even more confusing to him than that, however, was wondering how, in the nine circles of Hades, one nearly-grown woman-child could have such a profound affect on him? He had even agreed -- if only in the privacy of his own mind -- to _attempt_ to see the Harry Potter she saw, instead of 'the son his hated rival'. Ludicrous! Absolutely barmy! It would never work.

_She did it._

He growled again.

_She looked passed the relationship, passed the physical resemblance, to see the individual._

This time he snarled, launching himself up from his desk. If the bloody little chit could do it, then he could! There was nothing she could do, that he couldn't do with absolute ease!

_The big question is; do you want to?_

His first, instinctive, gut-level response was a resounding, _no!_. After that, however, he remembered Hermione's comment about not wanting to lose her friendship with Weasley over her reaction to his . . . _new friend_. He frowned, actually worrying his lower lip with sudden indecision. Was it worth it to him for the remainder of the school year? He still held to the thought that when the year ended, Granger would go off without a second thought. He cursed a silent blue streak when he realized that, yes, it would still be worth the effort.

Despite all odds to the contrary, he was enjoying the growing commaraderie between the two of them, and didn't want to lose that. With that thought in mind, and a sinking sensation in his gut, he turned his focus toward the Gryffindor celebrity he loath-- well, disliked really. He hadn't hated the brat for some time, just didn't exactly like him.

The boy was an arrogant brat, that couldn't follow the rules if his life depended on it -- which it frequently did; though, less now than before the final confrontation with Voldemort.

_Objectively, Severus Snape,_ he ordered himself, attempting to blanket his thoughts with a layer of calm. It helped . . . a little, though, he didn't come close to reaching the level he would have required of himself to successfully occlude his mind. _You know very well that **most** of the rules the boy broke were the direct result of his rather blatant lack of trust in the adult authority figures in his life._

Severus sighed, realizing he still hadn't come to any conclusions about what could be done about that. Soon, all of the boy's peers would be adults. What would happen then? Would he still, at least, trust them? Growling, once again, as he realized his thoughts had strayed from where he was trying to keep them, he narrowed his eyes a resolutely returned them to his original train of thought.

Okay, he acknowledged, so he'd never seen the brat pulling the kind of cruel stunts that his father had frequently pulled. And he wasn't even going _there_, that was another level entirely, one that he was reasonably certain the younger Potter hadn't come anywhere near. A person didn't have to go to that level to be a class A arrogant wanker.

The more he looked, however, the more he wondered if he hadn't been the cause of most of the friction between them. He frowned. No, it had started that first day at the sorting. The look the boy had given him had been unprovoked. He shook that off. He would probably never know what had caused that. The boy's inter-reactions with _most_ of his classmates, though, were better than James Potter's had ever been. With the blatant exception of most of the Slytherins. But then, when did he interact with any of the Slytherins at all? Draco and Miss Parkinson, mostly. 

_Oh, yes, such _shining _examples of Slytherin house,_ he thought sourly. They both projected the stereotypical image Severus had spent the last 15 years trying to correct -- or had, in Draco's place. And on that note, how in hell's half-acre did Potter end up going to his supposed rival for help? That confused Severus as much as Hermione's forgiveness of the Slytherin 'prince'. It certainly hadn't been a mark of arrogance to be able to do something like that, something that potentially humiliating; quite the opposite, in fact.

Young Malfoy could have taken Potter's situation and utterly humiliated him by spreading his supposed 'insanity' around the school. Much as he loathed it, he couldn't claim Potter was quite stupid enough to not realize the possibility of it.

Severus growled. He didn't like what he was seeing. He didn't want to lose the anger, the raging condescension. It had been a part of him for so long, he wasn't entirely certain he knew who he was without it.

Launching himself up from behind his desk, and storming from his office, Severus headed straight for his quarters. He had absolutely no intention of dining in the great hall tonight, and Albus could stuff himself if he thought otherwise. This whole situation -- and the intense introspection coming on top of it -- had him tied up in so many knots he couldn't begin to decide how to untangle himself, and he wasn't going to bloody try and pretend that everything was normal in front of the entire student body, not to mention his colleagues -- not when he wasn't entirely certain he could succeed.

Granger's, however well-meaning, apology and explanation had brought up too many memories Severus would far rather leave buried 5 kilometers under. He'd kept them down where they belonged while they'd been talking, but now that he was alone, and doing his own personal digging inside his psyche, they weren't staying down any longer. Instead, they were pressing against his conscious thoughts, and try as he might to avoid them, the memories kept interrupting anything else he started trying to concentrate on.

_What's he going to do if he finds out?_

Severus froze in the middle of the hallway, the odd phantom memory surge catching his instant attention. Slowly resuming his march toward his chambers, he did the opposite of what he'd been doing for the last several hours. He actively searched his mind for the memory that phrase was attached to. He'd never had a memory do that before, flash out at him, sounding nearly as clear as if it had been happening now.

That he couldn't place when Crabbe Sr. had said it, puzzled him even more. For such a strong memory, shouldn't he be able to? If he didn't know better, he might be worried the source of the memory was outside himself.

_He'll never know if you can learn to keep your mouth shut!_

Severus gasped. A mere three paces from his chambers, he stopped stopped cold. That had been Lucius' saying that, and it had been as fresh and vivid as Crabbe's comment earlier. Only this time, the words had come with a brief flash of an image, one sharp enough that he felt it almost as if it had been a physical blow.

He'd been laying down -- on the floor, judging by how far above him Lucius and Crabbe had towered. They'd all been young, very young, certainly before they had all graduated Hogwarts. He wasn't even certain that they had even reached final year.

His frown deepened into a full-fledged scowl as he tried to place the memory again. He couldn't. He could remember no time that matched what he'd seen and heard. Striding the last few feet to his chambers, Severus muttered the password and hurried inside. His pensieve would help him sort this out. Even if he couldn't remember the entire incident, the pensive would pull it out with just those fragments.

Several minutes later he was sitting in front of his pensieve, staring at the swirling mass of retrieved memory. Something about it actually scared him, sending tremors and chills creeping through him, making his skin crawl. He found himself frozen in place unable to make that tiny movement that would allow him to view it.

And as suddenly as that he was angry; angry that mere memory had that much power over him. Memories couldn't _do_ anything, how could he be frightened of one -- no matter how much he may not want to view it. Even _that_ memory. Steeling himself, Severus shot forward, dipping into the pensieve, and rolled back in time.

Glaring around him, he instantly discovered, he'd been right. His younger self was lying on the floor of a dusty classroom, obviously unused, but more telling than that were the heavy bruises the disfigured his face.

It was on the heels of that discovery that he realized with a shock of horror, when, exactly, the memory took place. It was seventh year, after all. He still didn't remember this happening, but he'd changed his mind. He no longer wanted to know what this was about! He didn't care any more.

The second before he could jerk himself free of the half remembered memory, however, Crabbe spoke, his words freezing Severus in place.

"He'll kill us, Lucius!"

_What?_

Lucius scoffed.

The memory went hazy then, a heavy fog-like veil covering the image and mangling Lucius' response, making it unintelligible, something that shouldn't have happened. Pensieves didn't work that way. Either the memory was there or it wasn't. There was no in between. The incident bothered him, tickling the edges of his thoughts with the answers.

Frozen with indecision, Severus didn't retreat and the memory that now filled him with horror, cleared before him, continuing to play out, regardless of his wishes to the contrary.

"We shouldn't have done it," Crabbe whined.

"Oh, do shut up!" Lucius snapped, kneeling beside the younger Severus.

_Do what?_

Eyes wide, his breath coming in tiny, frantic pants, the older Severus watched on in growing horror.

"Severus?" Lucius asked, seemingly gentle and concerned. "Can you hear me?"

Young Severus groaned quietly in response, blinking once, and _very_ slowly, _very_ carefully nodded. Eyes flashing angrily at his two companions. "What," he whispered through his swollen jaw, "did you do?"

"I'm so sorry, Snape," Crabbe whined -- pitifully, the older Severus noted absently, his attention glued to his younger self. He _still_ couldn't remember this! What was going on here? "He was supposed to go after that Gryffindor bint he had a date with."

_What!_ He couldn't breathe. What had they done? He could think of only one thing that might cause the Gryffindor to go after the woman he _loved_, and he really didn't like the thought of it.

Young Severus' hand shot out, grabbing Lucius by the throat. "What . Did . You . Do?" he hissed.

"Don't be so bloody melodramatic, Snape," Lucius snapped, having easily pried the fingers loose from his throat. "It's your own fault this happened, really. A perfectly good plan shot to hell, because you can't leave Potter alone for five bloody minutes! Keep that in mind next time, why don't you. Then, maybe you won't get yourself into this kind of trouble again."

Severus watched on, his anger growing, joining his horror in its intensity.

"We should have told him we were going to cast Imperious on Potter," Crabbe said, still whining.

Severus fell to his knees. _Imperious!_ Potter had been under the imperious that night. Only now did some of the strange comments the Gryffindor had made **that night** begin to make possible sense. Panting, desperately trying to take in enough air to stop feeling like he was strangling, Severus could barely hear the rest of the conversation, but what he did hear, sent a flash of cold, unadulterated rage barreling through him.

Lucius launched himself to his feet, rounding on his classmate. "I said, **Shut . Up**." The blond then faced young Severus, a snarl twisting his expression, whipping his wand up as he turned. "Obliviate!" he hissed.

_No!_ Severus shouted at the memory figures. The coldly Slytherin part of him understood exactly why Lucius had done what he'd done, but the other, usually hidden, part of him that had once considered Lucius his closest friend wept with the betrayal. _How?_

"What will he do if he finds out?"

Every muscle clenched; rage, fear, betrayal, and sadness all vying for top position within him, Severus slowly rose to his feet as the memory progressed to what he did remember of that night.

"He'll never know if you can learn to keep your mouth shut!"

Lucius seemingly approached him, his expression carefully set to worried concern. "What happened, Severus?" he asked kneeling beside him, reaching out to lay a hand on young Severus' shoulder.

This, Severus remembered; though, now, Crabbe Sr was not visible to his younger self, blocked as he was by Lucius Malfoy.

"Don't touch me!"

Severus wrenched himself out of the memory, only to find himself on his knees, on the floor of his chambers, tears streaming freely down his face. He didn't need to see the rest. He remembered it all too well. He remembered the dirty, used feeling, not wanting to be touched, feeling like he would never want to be touched ever again, that he would never be clean again. He remembered the hate, the rage, the incredible _guilt_. He remembered thinking it had all been his fault for sticking his nose where it didn't belong.

_And now we know just where **that** particular thought started, don't we?_

Severus shook his head, not wanting to think about Lucius right then. He'd stayed away from Potter and his gang for months after that, not wanting anything to do with any of them.

But most of all, he remembered the overwhelming shame. It had all twisted up inside him until all he could do was bury it or go insane. He'd never spoken of what happened that night, not even to try and get Potter expelled.

For years, he'd kept it to himself because he'd thought it was _his fault_. _He_ had been to blame. If he told anyone, it might become common knowledge that, somehow, he had brought it on himself, that maybe he'd even 'asked for it'.

By the time that feeling had faded, the Potters were already dead and it had been too late. Over the years, he had kept it completely to himself, never even hinting at it to anyone, not until a slip of a girl managed to get under his skin some 17 years later.

Now, deep inside, in the small part of him that wasn't a gibbering wreck, he wondered whether Potter had known why he'd done what he'd done. Had his classmate lain awake nights afraid to close his eyes for fear of what images he would see in his mind's eye? Had he spent sleepless night after sleepless night too afraid to go to sleep for fear of what _he'd_ see in his nightmares?

Sighing, beyond weary, afloat in mixed, completely opposing, feelings, Severus shook his head. He wondered whether that was why it had been so easy to avoid the Gryffindor; because the Gryffindor had been avoiding him, just as religiously as he had been avoiding the Gryffindor. Had the teenager been as haunted by the events of that night as Severus had? It was entirely possible, he realized in a sudden epiphany, an epiphany he wanted nothing to do with.

_If he was, he deserved it!_ came the rebellious thought.

He just didn't know; would _never_ know. The only person who could answer that question was long dead. He scrambled to his feet, ignoring knees that didn't want to cooperate, and tears that blurred his vision. He had to leave, had to get out. He didn't care that it was a school night, that technically, he shouldn't leave school grounds, truly didn't even think about it. 

Fairly launching himself out into the corridor, he rushed through the castle, everything but the rage bottled up and hidden where only he knew it was there.

Any students he may have come across got out of his way quickly enough that they didn't even impinge fully on his awareness. All he knew was that he had to get out, get away.

He rounded a corner in full stride and heard only a startled gasp of, "Professor!" a split second before he collided with the owner of the voice, both of them landing squarely on the floor.

That single touch, along with unceremoniously finding himself on the floor, was enough to ignite everything he was holding inside and much to his horror, Severus found himself back in that classroom, locked in a memory he wished Lucius had obliviated instead of the one the prat had tried to. 

TBC  
Kiristeen  
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	42. Chapter Forty One

See profile for more info on this story's progress. : )

AN: _**WARNING** We find out what happened between James and Severus in this chapter. (flashback) The flashback ends before the actual rape, but the events leading directly up to it are described. If you wish to skip the flashback, scroll down to the second ._

_That single touch, along with unceremoniously finding himself on the floor, was enough to ignite everything he was holding inside and much to his horror, Severus found himself back in that classroom, locked in a memory he wished Lucius had obliviated instead of the one he had tried to._

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Chapter Forty One  
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"I'd ask if you were going to soil yourself with the mudblood," Severus sneered at _Potter_. "But you can't get much more filthy than you already are."

Potter didn't bother to respond verbally, completely bypassing their usual give and take of taunts. Instead, the Gryffindor charged him, lashing out with a solid right cross to his jaw.

Severus found himself spiralling backward and he collapsed against the wall, with what he suspected was a broken jaw. Who knew the bloody bastard could hit that hard? Severus certainly hadn't expected a physical attack at all, let alone such a perfected one. He'd expected the normal hexs they usually traded after the insults. He'd even had his wand ready for that. Unfortunately, when he'd gone flying backwards, his wand had gone a different direction, which left him under-equipped to deal with this.

"What would you know about it, _Snape_?" Potter sneered above him, grabbing hold of the front of his robes and jerking him to his feet.

Severus lashed out, catching the edge of Potter's chin, but the Gryffindor's head just snapped sideways, the glancing blow doing nothing to ease the grip on Severus' robes.

"Let go of me!" Severus snapped, trying to retain what little dignity he had left to him.

Potter simply laughed, ignoring the demand. Instead, he shoved them against the wall, Severus' head colliding painfully with the hard surface. "That so-called 'mudblood' is far cleaner than you'll ever be!" he snapped. "At least her heritage is pure.

Severus snarled at that idea. "In which reality, Potter?"

"It may not be a wizarding heritage, but it's pure; pure muggle," Potter snorted, giving another shove. "You, on the other hand; there's nothing pure about you at all," he taunted. "Half and Half, that's about as dirty as you can get."

Severus felt outrage build up inside him. He didn't know how Potter had found out about his carefully guarded secret, but his mother's family was one of the purest of the purebloods. He was better than any _muggleborn_!

Potter smirked then. "I'll bet you're a virgin still," he sneered. "You couldn't even get a paid whore to spread her legs for you, so, of course you are."

"Shut up, Potter!" Severus hissed angrily, wincing as his jaw protested. He lashed out again, only this time, Potter ducked, sending Severus off balance. Only the Gryffindor's tight grip on his robes kept him upright as a wave of dizziness swamped him.

"Is that it?" Potter continued, tauntingly. "Jealous?"

Severus gaped, even through his growing fear that Potter might just kill him this time. "Not even in your dreams, _Potter_," he spat.

"Yes," Potter continued, now laughing maniacally, "that's it. You're jealous that a beautiful, talented woman like Lily Evans wants me, and would never have anything to do with a filthy mixed breed like yourself. You're the _mudblood_ in this little drama," Potter sneered.

Severus instantly renewed his struggles, outrage at the suggestion giving him the power he'd lacked moments ago. Another slam against the stone wall behind him ended those, however, a second wave of dizziness passing over him as his head hit the wall behind him again.

Above him Potter twitched, almost released him, then stilled, his expression darkening to something Severus had never seen on the Gryffindor's face. He'd seen it on Lucius', but never Potter's

"What's the only thing a mudblood is good for, Severus, huh?" Potter asked, grinning now; though, the expression had nothing in common with the usual ones Potter sported.

Severus eyes widened in horrified disbelief, only one answer to that question coming to mind. Surely the Gryffindor didn't mean--

Potter wrenched him from the wall and threw him away, sending him scraping several feet across the floor.

A third, stronger wave of dizziness spiralled through him, nausea twisting his stomach as the room spun around him To his horror, the edges of his vision began rapidly darkening. He was going to pass out!

_No!_ He couldn't; not now. He wouldn't be able to fight whatever Potter had planned if he was unconscious! Severus held onto consiousness by only the thinest of margins. Blinking rapidly to bring the room back into focus, he managed to clear his vision in time to see Potter toss his robes away.

_Oh bloody fucking hell!_ Severus thought in growing panic. _That **is** what he meant._ Knowing that in his current condition, he would probably have trouble fighting off a first year, Severus rapidly switched gears. "Potter," he began slowly, conciliatory, "think about it, " he suggested. "You really don't want to do this."

Potter's expression never changed as he oh-so-slowly advanced toward Severus.

Gulping, another wave of nausea roiling through him, Severus scrambled backwards as best he could -- difficult as it was since every movement sent spikes through his brain and set the room to spinning wildly around him.

"I don't?" Potter drawled, his smirk growing.

Severus shook his head, regretting the movement the moment he made it. "No," he whispered. "This isn't like you," he continued, though he didn't truly believe it. Right now, he wouldn't believe the blasted Gryffindor incapable of anything.

"Why not?" Potter asked, shrugging, as if discussing whether or not he wanted to play a quick game of quidditch.

It infuriated Severus. "Why not?!" he screeched, much to his own dismay.

Again, Potter shrugged. "Isn't that what all the pureblood fanatics say about mudbloods? Isn't that--" His paused, his grin turning maniacal. "--_this_ all filthy mudbloods are good for?"

Just as Potter grew close enough and reached out for him, ripping his robes open, he heard a faint cry.

"Professor!"

_Thank Merlin! Someone else is here!_ He tried to cry out, to draw attention to the two of them, but couldn't. His mouth refused to form the words.

"Professor!" the voice shouted again, this time sounding panicked.

_Welcome to the club,_ Severus thought hysterically, once again renewing both his struggles and his efforts to call out. He nearly cried when no more than breathless whimpers and choked sobs emerged no matter how hard he tried.

He gasped as a slap across his cheek stung sharply, startling him. It only vaguely registered that Potter couldn't have hit him, his hands were . . . otherwise occupied. "No!" he protested weakly, "Please no!"

A second slap set him spiralling into darkness . . . for all of a split second. He instantly found himself back on the floor of a Hogwarts hallway, _not_ the old history of magic classroom. Shaking, panic still coursing through him, he was slow to take in the reality of where he really was. As panic receded to plain old fear, more registered, and a new kind of fear began competing with the old. Who had seen him lose it completely?

Even knowing his eyes were still revealing far more than he wanted, he snapped his head around to stare at the snip of a girl he'd collided with. "Who?" he asked brokenly, wishing he could get his voice to cooperate.

Granger shook her head. "No one," she replied softly, her voice trembling. "As soon as you, umm, started having that episode, I put up privacy charms."

Relief flooded through him, allowing him to relax just the smallest amount. It was then that he noticed she seemed almost as shaken as he felt. She sat there, tensely, eyes as wide as saucers, her arms secured around her bent legs as if magically locked into place, her hands so tightly clenched that the knuckles were white. It had to be terribly uncomfortable with her pregnancy as advanced as it was.

Shaking, Severus rose slowly to his feet. When he managed that, as unstable as he was, he forced himself to reach out a hand. "Come on, Miss Granger," he urged, his voice somewhere between encouraging and sharp. He snorted mentally. Apparently, at the moment, he couldn't do either right. "A very public hallway is really not the place for this."

She looked up at him, and, impossibly, her eyes seemed even wider, this time unfocused and shimmering with unshed tears. "Are you okay enough now that I can panic?" she whispered, her voice oddly child-like.

"I'm fine," he lied firmly, willing himself to believe it.

"Good," she replied, immediately breaking down into gut wrenching sobs, the earlier tremble he'd heard in her voice becoming readily apparent as her body suddenly looked to be trying to shake itself apart at the seams.

He instantly knelt down next to her, wanting to reach out, but not daring to. "Miss Granger," he said sharply, hoping that perhaps, old habits would work this time as well as it had in the infirmary, the day she'd returned.

Granger brought her head up sharply, her eyes wild. "I-I'm s-sorry, P-professor!" she exclaimed, stumbling over the words. "I d-din't know what else to d-do."

He frowned. _Do?_ What had she done?

"It sh-shouldn't bruise," she continued, blythely unaware of his confusion. "I didn't really slap you all that hard. I just didn't know what else to d-do to bring you out of it."

It was her! She'd been the one to slap him and call out. It hadn't been part of the memory at all. He did hug her then, more grateful to her for having pulled him out of that . . . flashback? . . . than he could ever possibly express. As bad as what he'd just relived had been, she had relieved him of experiencing the worst of it. He drew back immediately, shocked at his actions.

"I forgive you," he replied quietly, knowing anything more complicated would have to wait until Hermione calmed. What he really wanted to do was thank her.

"It-- Oh, God! I could . . . _feel_ it . . . again. I knew-- could tell what-- almost ran away. But, I--"

"Shhh," Severus hushed, hoping to calm her before they truly had to leave the privacy circle and brave the sure to be very public hallway. He was not anywhere near comfortable with her _knowing_ what he'd just been experiencing, but, he supposed, better her than an entire hall full of children. "Miss Granger," he urged, pausing, waiting, hoping. Just as he thought he was going to have to resort to drastic measures of his own, the Gryffindor drew in a deep -- if very shaky -- breath.

Still visibly shaken, and wracked with fine tremors, but no longer sobbing, Hermione looked up at him. She nodded once and started to rise. "I'm sorry," she whispered faintly.

Severus once again reached out a hand, only this time, she took hold of it, allowing him to help her to her feet.

Unfortunately, she didn't stay there. She immediately swayed, her knees buckling from underneath her.

"Oh, bloody hell!" Severus swore, even as he leapt forward, catching her before she could collapse back onto the floor. Scooping her up into his arms and striding out of the privacy circle, regardless of how it would look, he made a beeline for the infirmary. Multiple gasps sounded around him as he strode through the crowd of students. He just hoped _he_ could stay on his feet all the way to the infirmary. It certainly wouldn't do his reputation any good to be seen collapsing -- apparently from merely carrying a student.

TBC


	43. Chapter Forty Two

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Chapter Forty Two  
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Severus paced the length of Albus' office. He'd been right, his carrying Miss Granger out of a circle of privacy spells into the _very_ crowded hallway, had sparked rumors from one end of Hogwarts to the other. He suspected that more than half of the student body knew _something_ about it by the time he'd set his cargo on an infirmary bed. He snorted, spinning on one heel as he paced back across the office. Not a one of them got it right; though, and even he had to admit that some of the rumors that had gotten back to him were truly bizarre.

The most popular rumor, wasn't the one he'd suspected might arise, had worried him might be the most accepted. No, the most popular one was that after casting the privacy circle -- though, why he would do that was beyond him -- he had laid into Miss Granger, insulting her so badly that she'd collapsed. He rolled his eyes, at the very assinine nature of that particular rumor. If he was going to 'lay into' anyone, he wouldn't bother with privacy shields. What would be the point. Avoidance of humiliation was a powerful motivator . . . especially in teenagers.

In utter exasperation at being made to wait, he dropped into 'his' chair, growling lowly as he folded his arms across his chest. No sooner had he done so, however, than the stairs began moving.

"About bloody time," he muttered. He'd only been stuck here, waiting, for nearly an hour while Albus 'questioned' Miss Granger about what had happened. _'It's necessary to protect everyone involved, Severus,'_ Albus had said. _'You included.'_

_Necessary, my arse!_ With a sigh of defeated resignation, he wondered whether he would ever be out from under suspicion for one thing or another, whether the mistakes he'd made as a young man would ever truly stop affecting his life. He doubted it, not if the only man who would give him a chance back then could believe--

He launched himself out of the chair just as the door opened, admitting Albus and Miss Granger. By that time, he'd worked himself into a right righteous snit, and he glared at the two of them as they approached. It worked well to cover his very real fear of what Miss Granger might have revealed to the headmaster. After all, she had no way of knowing the headmaster was unaware of what had happened so long ago, and Merlin knew, the girl couldn't lie to save her life.

"Thank you for waiting, Severus," Albus greeted, eyes as bright as ever.

He nodded, holding himself tensely; though, what he really wanted to do was snort and roll his eyes. It wasn't like he'd had much of choice. It was wait here, or wait here _after_ arguing with the headmaster.

"I also wanted to thank you for your quick thinking in casting the privacy charms when Miss Granger slipped into a flashback."

_What?_ An odd mix of relief and shock flooded through him, and it took all his years of experience at hiding what he was really feeling not to simply gape at the headmaster, or alternately, turn and stare at the Gryffindor student who had lied to the headmaster to protect _his_ secret. Instead of doing either of those things, he nodded sharply, waving off the older wizard's thanks. "I couldn't very well allow her hysterics to scare the students, now could I?" he sneered. "The chaos that would have caused would have had the entire staff working the rest of the day to calm everyone down. I, for one, did not wish to spend my day that way."

Out of the corner of his eye Severus caught the startled grin that Miss Granger quickly hid by ducking her head. He tensed, hoping the headmaster hadn't caught it; though, he was a bit surprised to be relieved to see it. The headmaster's reaction, on the other hand, made him uneasy. That annoyingly ever-present _knowing_ look was turned up on high and it was all Severus could do not to growl at the blasted wizard. Whether the look was caused because he knew that both of them were lying to him, or whether it was caused by realizing that Severus' gruff brush-off was a cover, he didn't know, but he didn't like it, either way. It was bloody annoying!

"Well, thank you, nonetheless," Albus repeated, turning to sit behind his desk.

Severus nearly groaned, waiting for it.

"Lemon drop?" the headmaster asked, holding out a dish of bright yellow candies to each of them in turn.

Both of them declined.

The headmaster shrugged, setting it down. "As far as I'm concerned, this matter is settled. I will make sure that the appropriate information gets distributed." He smiled brightly as he continued. "No sense letting this simple matter get blown out of proportion, now is there?"

"No, Sir," Miss Granger murmured, head once again raised.

"Excellent!" Albus exclaimed heartily, nodding to the Gryffindor. "You may go, Miss Granger," he said, smiling softly, handing her a small piece of parchment. "To make sure you can return to the tower without losing any points," the headmaster explained. "It is nearly curfew."

"Thank you, Headmaster," she said, taking the offered pass, then, turned to him. "Thank you, too, Professor."

He arched an eyebrow at her until she turned to leave.

As soon as she did so, the headmaster turned toward him. "Severus, there is another matter I wish to speak with you about," he explained, "if you would be so kind as to stay a moment?"

_Another matter. Yeah, right! And Potter is suddenly going to ask to be sorted into Slytherin house._ "Of course, Albus," he said, leaving his thoughts silent as he reluctantly retook his seat.

Neither of them spoke until after Granger left the office and the stairs had stopped moving.

Slowly, reluctantly, he turned to face the headmaster.

"Is there perhaps something you wish to speak to me about?" Albus asked softly, his eyes boring into his with an intensity Severus was not comfortable with.

"Not particularly, Albus," he replied, hoping it would be sufficient.

Albus sighed, and Severus knew it wouldn't be sufficient this time.

"Miss Granger is good at many things," Albus began conversationally.

_No? Really?_

"But we both know, lying isn't one of them."

This time, Severus sighed, slumping back in his chair. He wasn't going to get out of this. Eyes firmly locked on the headmaster's he spoke slowly, precisely. "It wasn't Miss Granger who had a bad . . . turn," he admitted. "I did. Miss Granger was resourceful enough to realize that it would not be good for the students to see that. It was she who cast the privacy charms until the . . . turn passed."

Albus frowned, leaning forward. "Are _you_ alright?"

Huffing, Severus nodded. "Yes, Albus, I'm fine."

Nodding and leaning back again; though, clearly not entirely satisfied with his response, the headmaster moved on. "And Miss Granger's condition when you carried her to the infirmary?"

_Damn it!_ He thought fast, letting none of his worry show outwardly. "Miss Granger is not yet fully recovered from her ordeal. I imagine, it did nothing for her to have an authority figure--" He paused, not knowing what expression to use. "break down in front of her."

"No, I imagine it didn't," Albus replied, nodding in apparent agreement. "And that was the extent of what happened?"

"_Yes,_ Albus," he confirmed impatiently. "That is the extent of what happened."

_What else did you think happened you old codger!?_

Another sigh, leavened with disappointment.

Severus hardened himself against it.

"That's all I wanted to know. Thank you."

"Good," Severus replied, rising quickly. He had to force himself not to run from the office.

"Severus?" the headmaster asked, just as he reached the doorway.

Severus froze, tensing immediately. "Yes?" he replied, not turning.

"My door is always open if you need to talk," he offered softly. "About anything. You know that, right?"

_You wouldn't want to hear this._

"Yes, Albus, I do," he lied.

He made it out of the office and down the stairs without further interruption. All the way back to the dungeons, Severus fretted. The headmaster knew _something_ and that bothered him. It bothered him that he didn't know just what, exactly, the headmasater knew. Did the old man know what had happened all those years ago? Had Potter told him, told anyone who might have passed on the knowledge? Was his secret really just his? Well, his and the Granger girl's.

He swallowed roughly. Had the headmaster known as far back as when it happened and done nothing? There was precedent for him to suspect it, after all. If the old man would protect Sirius Black, a _Gryffindor_ guilty of attempted murder, why wouldn't he protect one guilty of--

He sharply cut off that thought. It would do no good to speculate, and could do a lot of harm. It certainly wasn't helping his opinion of the headmaster, a man he usually trusted. He growled -- he seemed to be doing that a lot lately -- at himself. The incident was over. The man was long dead. He never needed to think of it again. So, why the hell was he obsessing over something that happened so long ago the grave was cold?

"Professor?"

Severus closed his eyes in weary resignation as he stopped, nearly groaning outloud. "What do you want, Potter?" he asked, his voice not as sharp as he would have prefered. He was simply too tired for it. Actually, he was too tired for the fit that Potter was going to throw at him for whatever it was he had supposedly done to the Gryffindor's 'best friend'.

"I wanted to thank you," he said quietly.

Shock flooded Severus, and it took a moment for his brain to process what the boy had said. "For what?" he asked gruffly, instantly on guard.

"For helping Hermione," he said softly. "For helping me."

_What universe did I just step into?_ he wondered drily.

Again, just as with the headmaster, he waved off the boy's thanks. "No thanks are required, Potter. I would do the same for any student."

Potter smiled sadly, only one side of his mouth participating. "Yes, you would, wouldn't you," he whispered, the words sounding of discovery.

Severus frowned, looking more closely at the student standing in front of him. The brat should have been insulted by his comment, not sounding like he'd just discovered the key to understanding the long sought after potion of eternal youth -- barring the philosopher's stone potion, of course.

Coming as it did on the heels of everything else that had happened today, this encounter left Severus feeling very off-balance -- not that he'd exactly been well centered in his little corner of the world before coming down here. It also left him extremely torn. Part of him wanted to snarl at the brat to just leave him the hell alone, to go pester his friends if he needed to talk. That part wanted to deduct points and land the boy in detention because the time was lacking about two minutes until curfew. It wasn't possible for him to make it back to Gryffindor tower in time.

Another part of him -- a part that, alarmingly, was rapidly growing in strength and size -- was thinking that this just might be the prime opportunity to clear the air between them. It won . . . much to his bemusment.

"Follow me, _Potter_," he snarled, striding past the brat. He nearly smirked when the boy jumped, clearly startled, a wary expression instantly descending over his features.

His thoughts snarling at him silently, asking him what in Merlin's name he thought he was doing, Severus strode to his office -- after having contemplated actually going to his quarters for all of half a second. The outrage spurred by the half-formed idea, convinced him it wasn't a good idea. The rules pertaining to the matter could hang themselves from the rafters of the astronomy tower for all he cared.

He ignored the snide thought that asked, _what rafters?_ dropping down easily onto the chair behind his desk.

Potter entered the room hesitantly, fidgeting restlessly.

"Oh, do sit down, Potter," Severus snapped irritably. "This isn't your execution hearing. I merely wished to . . . speak with you a moment.

Eyes widening in obvious surprise, the Potter boy sat, well flopped really, down into the chair in front of the desk.

"If you weren't a Gryffindor," Severus began, almost laughing when Potter's eyes widened even further, "this would go without saying. Since you _are_, however, I suppose I must." He sighed, rather dramatically, his eyes narrowing. "It is no secret to anyone, Potter, that you and I have never . . . seen eye to eye on most anything."

Potter snorted, rolling his eyes.

Severus ignored the reaction -- for the first time ever. "But recent events have made me think about the past, my past; my actions and the actions of those around me."

_There! How's that for speaking completely around the subject?_

Potter nodded, looking as though he understood; though, he did have a rather vague expression of 'and that has to do with me, how?'.

Severus was actually fairly certain the boy probably did understand, considering. "One thing has me puzzled," he admitted, keeping his tone as conversational as he was capable of -- which he had to admit, wasn't exactly all that 'conversational'.

"What's that, Professor?" Potter asked when he paused.

"Of course, I know why I had a problem with you. What I do not know is why you hated _me_ on sight."

"What?!" Potter exclaimed, incredulously. "After the way you laid into me for taking notes that first day of class, how could I not?"

Scowling, Severus shook his head irritably, waving off the boy's protest. "No, it began before that," he insisted.

Potter's mulish expression turned puzzled and blank. "Huh? That class was the first time we met."

Eyes narrowing suddenly, Severus leaned forward slightly. "Do you remember the day your class was sorted?" he asked intently, hoping it wasn't a day that had been consigned to the obscurity of forgotten days.

Potter snorted, nodding impatiently, clearly not seeing what the question had to do with their conversation. "It's not a day I'm likely to forget any time soon," he replied.

Rolling his eyes, Severus returned a snort of his own. "A simple yes or no would have sufficed, Mr. Potter."

Potter shrugged, pursing his mouth in near sneer.

Again, Severus ignored the response, actually wanting the information just enough to let subtle signs of insubordination pass him by . . . as long as it didn't get out of hand.

"You already didn't like me then."

Potter frowned, his eyes losing focus as he tried to remember the events of that night.

"You glared at me from across the great hall," Severus prompted helpfully, his tone just barely the acceptable side of 'civil'.

"Professor Quirrel was sitting beside you," Potter said quietly, still looking as though he were picturing the presorting event. "He'd turned to face you just as you looked over at m-- the new students."

Severus nodded, silently urging the brat to hurry up and get to the point; though, he doubted the movement was noticed.

"Of course, at the time, I didn't know that Voldemort was stuck to the back of Professor Quirrel's head, and that because of Quirrel's back being toward me, Voldemort was--"

"Get to the _point_, Potter," Severus finally snapped.

Potter winced. "Sorry," he said. "The point is, the moment you looked over my direction -- seeming to look directly at me -- my scar started to hurt really bad."

Severus eyebrow arched sharply. He hadn't known that; though, with a bit of searching, he could recall that Potter's hand _had_ been pressed against his forehead. He could now picture it clearly.

"It was the first time it had ever happened. I'd just learned all about Voldemort and how I got the scar, and, at the time, the two seemed . . . connected."

Severus nodded slowly. That was one puzzle solved. It made sense even. An eleven year old child's thinking process was 3/4 imagination to start with. It wouldn't take much for a -- probably overwhelmed -- preteen to make that erroneous connection. He had to admit, it was pleasant to know the truth about that night. The apparent automatic loathing had driven home the physical similarities between son and father. It had been a part of what had incited his over-reaction that day in potions cl--

_Wait!_

"Taking notes?"

Blinking in surprise, Potter nodded. He opened his mouth once, closing it abruptly, sighed, then tried again. "I liked your opening speech," he admitted, sounding like he would rather eat portubor pus than say the words. "It was like a poem. I wanted to write it down before I forgot it."

"_You_ were taking notes on my introduction speech?" he asked in complete disbelief.

Potter nodded. "I can go get my first year notebook, if you like. Hermione made us keep them all for newt studying."

Severus chuckled, not doubting that last bit at all.

"That won't be necessary, Potter," he began, drily. "It's just . . . surprising, is all," he finished thoughtfully. He nodded firmly, rising from his seat. "Thank you," he said, wincing as he did so, not believe for an instant that he'd actually said it, not to Potter of all people.

Potter seemed just as disbelieving. He did not comment on it, however, beyond a nod, and a quick, "you're welcome," as he stood up.

Snatching a parchment off his desk, Severus grabbed a quill and wrote quickly. "I can't believe I'm doing this for you, Potter," he said sourly, thrusting the note toward the boy.

Potter took it warily and looked down at it. He smiled broadly as it dawned on him what it was; a pass to get him safely to the tower.

"Don't be tempted to abuse it. It only allows you 15 minutes to get from here to your common room!"

"No, sir!" Potter exclaimed, already headed toward the door. "Thank you, sir!"

Severus huffed, not bothering to respond.

Potter stopped at the door, and turned only his head, enabling the boy to look over his shoulder.

It reminded him eerily of Albus' pause earlier in the day. He stiffened, waiting for the other axe to fall, just knowing he wasn't going to like what was said next.

"Since my being Gryffindor was, _is_, part of the problem between us," the brat began.

_Oh no you don't! I did not think that, just to have it **really** happen!_

"I wonder what would have been different if I'd let the hat sort me into Slytherin like it wanted to," he finished, grinning, and immediately slipping out into the hallway.

Severus barely registered the fast running footsteps.

_Potter in **Slytherin**?_

"I'd never have survived these last seven years!"

Shock stealing his power to stand, Severus sank back into his chair. He closed his eyes wearily, his mind whirling. It absolutely boggled his mind the kind of trouble the prat could have gotten into if he'd learned Slytherin subtlety early on. He shuddered violently, horrified, and for the first time since that fateful sorting over six years ago, Severus was sincerely and fervently thanking every diety he had ever heard of, that 'The Boy Who Lived' was a blunt Gryffindor.

Frowning, he promised himself that he would speak to the headmaster in the morning . . . just to make sure the bloody brat wasn't simply trying to pull the wool over his eyes. It'd be just like a blasted Gryffindor to try such a ridiculous thing.

Seconds later the door to his office was locked and he was on his way to his quarters, grumbling the entire way. The rest of the world could tend to itself for what was left of this perfectly wretched day. He was going to take a dreamless sleep potion and hopefully get several hours of uninterrupted unconciousness. He, in absolutely no way, wished to dream of a Slytherin Harry Potter! At least, that's the reasoning he used on himself as he drank down the vile stuff.

TBC  
Kiristeen


	44. Chapter Forty Three

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Chapter Forty Three  
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Draco shifted restlessly for what seemed the millionth time, casting a quick glance at the door leading into the infirmary. Beside him, his companion chuckled, receiving a sharp elbow to his ribs for his show of amusement.

"Laugh it up, Weasel," Draco muttered.

"I am," Ron shrugged, grinning widely, his eyes knowing. "You're nervous," he said.

"Am not," Draco denied hotly. He was, but he wasn't about to admit to it.

Ron laughed again, clearly disbelieving the denial. "Right," he drawled, "and I'm next in line to be Minister of Magic."

Draco growled at him, casting yet another dark look at the still closed door. "What is taking her so long?"

With a third -- still irritating -- chuckle, Ron shrugged. "Don't know. What goes on at these check ups, anyway?"

Draco shifted his glare from the door to the red-head. "How should I know?" he snapped.

"Figured you would have looked it up."

"What?" He had, in point of fact, but why had Ron thought that? Draco, in absolutely no way, liked being 'predictable'.

A wicked grin crooked Ron's mouth, his eyes dancing with mischief as he leaned a little closer. "I've discovered something this year," he said.

"Well, what?" Draco snapped when the prat beside him didn't continue.

"One of the first places you go if you don't know something, is the library," he replied, pausing before continuing, his eyes now virtually dancing with mirth. "Just like--"

"Don't you dare say it!"

"--Hermione."

Draco growled again, launching himself to his feet. Whatever his response would have been was cut short, however, as the door to the infirmary opened and Madam Pomfrey emerged. "You can join us now," she said crisply, turning immediately back inside.

With one last glare that was only half mock, Draco spun around and strode after the medi-witch.

Still laughing at him, Ron followed behind.

Despite his nerves, which now fluttered like extra large snitches set loose in his gut, Draco rolled his eyes, allowing a smirk to form, now that his tormentor couldn't see it. It wasn't that long ago that Ron's words would have truly caused him to fly into a rage. It was difficult sometimes to truly understand how much had changed in such a short time. And then, there were times like now, when it all came into focus, when everything became crystal clear to him.

He stared at Hermione propped up against infirmary pillows and his world swam slightly out of focus. These people were his _friends_. The only other friends he had ever truly had, had died to bring him to this point. He openly had a _boyfriend_ -- Ron Weasley, of all people. Hermione Granger was the mother-to-be of his half-blood brother, the baby that would soon be his _son_. Hell, he was even becoming friends with the bloody 'boy who lived'! Even stranger -- if that was remotely possible -- he was giving advice to a muggleborn about 'seducing' his godfather!

As he stepped up to next to Hermione he felt very disconnected from reality. Everything took on that surreal haze of the dreamworld. Madam Pomfrey droned on about what they were going to see as Draco only half heard her, staring at the exposed rounded belly of his classmate. That was his future child. It boggled the mind. He shifted his gaze, his eyes landing on his _boyfriend_. He loved him, and was loved _by_ him . . . he hoped.

Madam Pomfrey began casting a spell, and Draco shifted his attention back toward her. In the air between them rose a mist. It swirl for a moment then formed a picture that hung in midair. Draco gasped, the sound echoed from right beside him. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the sight in front of him. It looked so . . . real, like an actual, tiny human being. He hadn't expected that. He wasn't entirely certain what he _had_ expected, but it wasn't the nearly perfectly formed baby he was seeing.

"That's your baby," Madam Pomfrey said.

Draco wasn't sure who she was talking to, Hermione or him, but all he could do was nod. _Yes, it is,_ he thought with awe. He was going to be wholely responsible for that tiny, helpless creature in about three months. "As you can see he's fully formed. He is also perfectly healthy, everything's right where it's supposed to be."

Huge eyes seemingly stared at them; though, obviously, he couldn't really see them.

"He currently weighs .75 kilograms, which is right on schedule."

"He's so tiny?" Draco breathed, trying to picture something that small. It terrified him. If it was here right now, he would be able to hold it in the palm of his hand!

Madam Pomfrey chuckled. "Yes. He will grow more quickly now, gaining half his birthweight in the last month alone."

A tight band constricted his chest and he felt tears prickle in the backs of his eyes, an unaccustomed feeling swamping him, drowning him. It dawned on him with rather incredible intensity that he already loved this child he was only now seeing for the very first time. He didn't know how. He didn't know why. He simply did. It was intense, and frightening, and . . . wonderful!

"Thank you, Hermione," he breathed in awe, not entirely certain whether he was thanking her for letting him experience this, letting him adopt the vision of the future in front of him, or both, just knowing that he'd never meant his gratitude more sincerely than at this very moment.

"You're welcome, Draco," Hermione said quietly, and it was only then that Draco realized she had yet to look at the picture of the child inside of her. "I'm . . . glad he'll be loved." She paused a moment, closing her eyes tightly, reopening them before she resumed speaking. "For what it's worth, no matter what else I may feel about . . . him, I _do_ want him to have a chance at a good life, a happy life."

"I'll make sure of it," Draco vowed. As he spoke, he felt a hand slip into his and squeeze gently, and for the first time since the mist swirled into being he wrenched his eyes away from the sight. Ron smiled at him, his eyes conveying his presence and his support. The tears that had threatened to unman him earlier, slipped free and trailed down his cheeks.

"You'll make a good father," Ron offered quietly, reaching out and carefully wiping the tears away. "He'll be happy with you."

Draco smiled. "And you," he murmurred, eyes widening at the same moment as Ron's as it dawned on him what he'd just said, and even more that he meant it. This was his life. This was what he wanted. He wanted it with every fiber of his being.

"Are-- I-- You--" Ron stuttered.

Draco choked out a watery chuckle, very much enjoying the red-head's inability to talk. "Marry me?" he asked suddenly, impulsively, suddenly afraid it would all disappear out from under him. "Be my son's father with me."

Ron gaped at him for several absolutely silent seconds. "You mean it?" he asked after several false starts.

Draco tried to reply, but the lump that had a chokehold on his throat wouldn't let him. He nodded, waiting, hoping, fear growing the longer Ron took to answer. Was it too soon?

"Yes," Ron whispered finally, and it took Draco a moment to realize he'd actually answered.

He beamed. His life was complete, a feeling of peace and security pooling deep inside of him. He wondered what his mother would think and hoped she would approve. He knew what his father would think, and frankly, he didn't care. The man was dead, let him stay that way. He couldn't completely hate the man, anymore, however. It was because of him, after all, that Draco had everything he could possibly want in life -- even if that's not what his late father had intended to do.

A soft sound to his left made Draco turn. The three dimensional picture was gone, but the memory remained. Both Hermione and Madam Pomfrey had tears freely streaming down their faces, Hermione for the first time since the picture had appeared was looking _at_ them, instead of simply anywhere but directly in front of her.

"That was simply beautiful, boys," Madam Pomfrey confessed, not bothering to hide or wipe away her tears.

Draco and Ron both chuckled, the intensity of the moment fading.

Pomfrey blinked suddenly and before they knew it they were being directed out of the infirmary. "Now, shoo, both of you. Go . . . celebrate, or something," she said firmly, shutting the door behind them.

Both of them blinked in surprise, turning identical confused looks at the door that had just closed behind them. "Well, that was odd," Draco said, voicing their shared thought.

Ron nodded in hearty agreement.

Both laughed as the started slowly down the hall, hands still clasped together.

No more than a few yards down the hall, Draco's smile -- which was starting to make the muscles in his cheeks ache -- morphed into a mischievous smirk. "Want to do what every Gryffindor for the last 15 years has wanted to do?"

Ron frowned, puzzled. "What's that?"

"Give my godfather a heart attack."

Ron's frown deepened. "Godfather?" he asked, then his eyes widened in comic horror. "_Godfather!?_" he exclaimed.

Laughing outright, now, Draco nodded. "I thought everyone knew."

Ron shook his head frantically. "No," he squeaked. I didn't."

"Well, you want to?"

Ron shook his head again.

"Why not?" Draco demanded, still laughing. "What happened to all that vaunted courage Gryffindors are supposed to have?"

Ron was still shaking his head, when he spoke. "Not when it involves--"

Draco cut him off. "I know, I know. Trelawny, Peeves, and Snape. Oh, and of course, your mother."

Grinning, Ron nodded emphatically. "Exactly right," he said firmly, only then realizing where they were. He froze. "Not nice!"

Draco laughed, pulling him forward. Much to his relief, Ron followed. He protested the whole way, but he followed.

x-x-x

Severus stared, suspicious. "Would you please repeat that, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco smirked at him, and much to his discomfort even Weasley was openly smiling. If he wasn't so intent on proving that his hearing was going faulty he'd have stripped Gryffindor of several points for the audacity.

"I asked," Draco repeated patiently, clearly amused, "if you would stand in place of my father for my upcoming wedding."

"That's what I thought you said," Severus hissed. "And just who, praytell, has agreed to marry you?" he asked. "Wasn't it just two months ago that you were bemoaning the lack of marriage prospects?"

Draco's grin widened. "I was at that," he admitted cheerfully, answering Severus' last question first.

"And?" Severus demanded, starting to grow angry at the boy's antics.

He glanced slyly to his side and back again.

Severus' eyes widened. _No._ He sat, hard, gaping openly, abstractly grateful that his chair was still directly behind him.

Impossibly, the imp's grin widened even more. "I proposed over a picture of my unborn son, and he accepted," he admitted sheepishly, casting a second glance at his companion, this one less sly and a _lot_ sappier.

Severus sneered at the openly displayed sentiment; though, wasn't surprised to see it returned by the Weasley prat. "And you assumed I would approve?"

Draco's smile disappeared instantly, and Weasley stiffened, stepping closer to the boy, tense anger written in every line of his posture.

What surprised Severus the most, however, was the tears that sprang into being in his godson's eyes. He rolled his and huffed. "Yes, Draco, I will stand with you," he agreed, huffing a second time for good measure, sending a challenging glare the red-head's way. He was gratified when Weasley backed down and Draco's smile returned.

He shook his head, not believing for one minute that he wasn't dreaming. "Now go away," he growled, rising and striding toward his office door. "I have work to do."

"Yes, Sir!" Draco exclaimed, grabbed his _fiance_ by the hand and darted for the classroom exit.

Just before the two disappeared from view, he heard Ron ask, "does this mean he's going to be my godfather too?"

Severus blanched. "Not in this lifetime, Mr. Weasley," he snapped, then fled into the relative safety of his office, slamming the door shut behind him.

x-x-x

Draco doubled over in laughter, never releasing Ron's hand. "And I thought Gryffindor's ran from Professor Snape!" he exclaimed between gasps. "That was bloody priceless!"

Ron grinned, his relief at this trial having been passed with flying colors. "Glad that's over with."

Draco smirked then. "See," he taunted, "that wasn't that bad, was it?"

Ron's eyes narrowed, his grin turning into what was becoming a reasonable mimicry of Draco's own smirk. "Now, we get to tell Mum."

Draco's remaining laughter cut off abruptly. "Umm," he stalled, "maybe we should wait a little while on that."

Ron's smirk grew. "Oh, no. We told your family. Now, we tell mine."

"But that's not fair!"

Ron snorted. "How's it not fair?" he asked, incredulous.

"My family consists of one person. You've got a whole . . . _tribe_!"

Unbeknownst to the two of them, they had an observer. As they strolled off down the corridor, Severus stepped out of the shadows, his eyes still thoughtfully following their progress. He could not believe the fundamental changes he saw in the Malfoy heir . . . now lord. How had Hermoine seen them before he had? These changes weren't superficial, cosmetic changes to 'fall in line' with authority. These were soul deep changes of a kind with when he'd come to Dumbledore, expecting to go to Azkaban for what he'd done.

TBC  
Kiristeen

Feedback: I practically live for it. LOL


	45. Chapter Forty Four

The most confusing day of Severus' life blended into the background of his life as the days passed and February faded into March. As always, despite his preoccupation with his own troubles, he kept a close eye on the remaining students, particularly Draco Malfoy and three specific Gryffindors. He'd kept his promise to himself to try and see Hermione's friends from her point of view.

Most of the time, he still thought they were arrogant prats, with little respect for authority, but sometimes -- just sometimes, mind -- he could see a flash behind that. He shook his head as he surruptitiously watched them from the staff table. He still thought Ronald Weasley was an immature, loudmouthed prat, but much to his chagrin, when he'd confronted Hermione with it, she'd simply laughed. The outcome of that accusation had left him with a memory that he cherished, but confused the bloody hell out of him.

o

o

ooo "Of course, he is!" she exclaimed, arms wrapped around her expanding middle as she laughed fully. He's a teenaged boy with no worries left in the world. The war is over; the responsibilities of the future too far away to see. Of course, he's immature." She paused, her head cocking to the side thoughtfully. "I think Ron actually revels in it, if you ask me," she admitted, then glared at him -- half seriously -- I'll deny it, if that gets back to him though," she warned.

He sneered at her. "I would not do anything so . . . crass as to let something like that slip."

She laughed again. "Yes, you would."

His sneer morphed into a smirk -- against his will. "I might," he allowed.

"You would."

He actually chuckled, then. Him! The bitter, Greasy git of a potions master . . . chuckled! "I would," he admitted. ooo

o

o

Severus was startled out of his thoughts by a sharp, pain-filled cry. His gaze flew immediately to the source; the Gryffindor table. He gasped. Hermione Granger was standing, bent over the table, one arm wrapped around her stomach, panting harshly, her face scrunched up in pain. He launched himself to his feet, not caring that his chair crashed to the floor behind him. Intent on reaching the suffering girl, he only abstractly noticed other professors, and Draco, also rushing across the great hall.

"Madam Pomfrey!" Potter shouted, wrapping an arm around Hermione and supporting her, helping her sit.

Before he could reach her, she was seated and bent double, curling around the pain.

x-x-x

This was beyond surreal, Severus thought as he paced, waiting impatiently for the mediwitch to finish examining Hermione. He had been relegated to the hall outside the infirmary . . . with the _students_! He was uncomfortable here, and several times he had briefly considering retreating to his dungeons with the intention of locking himself away from it all. Two hours! It had been two hours since Poppy had shoo'd them all out of her way to wait like . . . well, like useless baggage.

"She'll be okay," Potter suddenly stated into the reigning silence.

Severus snapped his head around to glare at the prat, who was standing stiffly, arms tightly coiled around his own chest, staring at Weasley and Draco.

The two of them turned to look at the prat. "How can you be sure?" Draco asked.

Severus' eyebrow arched up sharply in surprise that it hadn't been Weasley that asked.

"Just am," Potter replied firmly.

"What?" Snape sneered. "She's going to be well, simply because _you_ say so?"

Potter's head whipped around and the arrogant sod glared at him. "No," was all he said, however.

Severus had never felt the urge to snarl more strongly than he did right now. For one of the few times in his life, however, he held back. Sighing as he returned his attention to the infirmary door, once again contemplating simply leaving. "Why?" he asked, actually wanting to know what made the Gryffindor sound so certain.

"Why what?" Weasley asked.

"Why is she going to be well, or rather, why is Potter so sure she is?" Draco said.

Severus simply nodded.

Potter shrugged again, and Severus was ready to snap at the prat, when he gave a more than one word reply. "She'll get well, because she has to," he said quietly, his own gaze shifting to the door. "The alternative is . . . unthinkable."

Severus scoffed, shaking his head at such infantile _faith_. How Potter could still have that, after all that had happened was utterly beyond his ability to understand.

The door to the infirmary opened, sending a dozen or so eagerly waiting people to attention. "She'll be fine," Madam Pomfrey said, smiling broadly.

"And the baby?" Weasley asked, while, beside him, Draco paled.

"The baby will be fine as well, Mr. Weasley."

Draco blew out a relieved breath, slumping back against the wall, and a subtle tension eased in all the listeners.

"Can we see her," Potter asked.

"Yes," Poppy replied, "in a minute. Miss Granger asked that I explain what's happening, so she wouldn't have to." She looked like she wanted to say more but for some reason, visibly bit back whatever it was.

The tension was back in a heartbeat, everyone's attention riveted to the school's mediwitch.

"There is a weak spot in her uterus, and the growing baby is stressing that spot. "It ripped today--"

Several gasps sounded throughout the assembled people.

Poppy continued as if she hadn't heard them "--when she went to pick up that three stone book bag of hers. That's what caused the pain she was in." She paused here, taking the time to direct a stern look directly at everyone, him included. "Let me make this perfectly clear, Miss Granger was bleeding inside. She may have had no _visible_ wounds, but she would have bled to death in a matter of minutes if she had not received immediate medical attention. What I cannot stress enough, is that if she is not careful, it will -- not may -- _will_ happen again. She must take it easy for the rest of her pregnancy or she and/or the baby could very well die."

Stunned silence greeting her proclamation, several people exchanging worried glances. To Severus' surprise it was Draco who voiced the first question. "What limitations does she have?" he asked. "And what can we do to help?" he continued, including everyone else in his offer without so much as a by your leave. Severus snorted mentally at the high handed action.

"At this point, I don't think the step of bed rest is necessary, but it will come to that without precautions. She will, however, be moved out of Gryffindor tower and into a room on the main floor. Climbing stairs is to be kept to an absolute minimum. That means, no trips to spend the evening in Gryffindor tower," she stated firmly, sternly eyeing both Potter and Weasley. Then she shifted her attention toward him. "And that project the two of you are working on, will have to be tabled, unless you're willing to move it lock, stock, and barrel to a first floor classroom. She also shouldn't be standing for more than 15 to 20 minutes at a time, so make sure there's an appropriate chair available to her with proper back support. NO stools."

_Project?_ They had no project going. He frowned, wanting to know what the mediwitch meant, but noticed several other quick puzzled looks thrown his way and kept his mouth shut. He merely nodded once, as if he knew exactly what she was referring to. At the moment, he was more interested in hearing the rest of what Poppy had to say anyway.

"No running, no long walks, no heavy lifting -- that includes that book bag -- she has a standing pass to take five extra minutes to get from one class to the next." This was said with an hard, pointed stare his direction.

He huffed quietly, but didn't say anything, Poppy's words worrying him more than he cared to admit . . . even to himself. He knew how mixed up Hermione's feelings toward that baby were; he, probably better than anyone, short of Hermione herself. If something happened to that child that she could believe she might have been able to prevent, he suspected-- Well, he didn't care to contemplate what it would do to her, just that it wouldn't be good.

"What you can do to help, young man," Poppy continued, drawing Severus from his worried thoughts, "is to make sure she gets the help she needs to follow through. Someone walk with her to class, carry that bag of rocks for her. If she needs something from her room and she's nowhere near it, get it for her. If she's tiring herself out too much, encourage her to rest."

Severus almost laughed. Judging by the faces around him that paled further, they knew what he did. Hermione was going to . . . chaffe, under these restrictions. He knew he sure as hell would!

"That's going to be fun, of the _not_ variety," Draco said drily. "She's going to get so wrapped up in whatever she's doing she's going to forget all about having to take it easy. Just wait and see."

"Can't you heal the weak spot?" Miss Bones asked, ignoring Draco's comment.

Poppy shook her head. "Not until after she's delivered. Any magics that alter the uterus cannot be done while pregnant without risking a spontaneous abortion. And even then it might not--" She cut herself off.

"It might not work?" Miss Bones asked, looking and sounding rather appalled.

Sighing, Poppy nodded. "That's correct. That is a slight possibility."

"If it doesn't work, she might not be able to have kids," Miss Fincher whispered; though, it was heard by everyone.

Severus cocked an eyebrow at her comment, though, it didn't really surprise him overly much. Miss Fincher was a pureblooded witch of high standing in society. Not being able to bear children was tantamount to social suicide -- and forget making an advantagous marriage. What did surprise him was Draco's reaction. The boy paled and clamped down on Weasley's arm. Severus smirked when Weasley winced, despite his concern -- for two students now. What was wrong with Draco now, that wasn't a few seconds ago?

Under the guise of moving closer to Poppy, Severus moved closer to the two boys, just in time to hear Draco's panicked whisper to the red-head.

"If she can't have children, she isn't going to let me adopt this baby," he said, his voice barely audible even to Severus who was actively listening.

Severus froze in surprise, barely managing to control his other outward reactions. He definitely didn't want to attract attention to _this_ conversation. Or let the speakers know he was even listening, for that matter.

"We haven't signed anything yet. She can still change her mind!"

In contrast to what the Draco of old would have been displaying, this Draco wasn't angry, Severus realized with a start. He wasn't altogether certain this Draco wasn't near to tears. It certainly sounded like it. He shook himself out of his startled realization when it dawned on him that some students were leaving and others were headed into the infirmary. _Damn!_ He'd missed the rest of what Poppy had said.

Draco, Weasley, and Potter were all among those allowed into the infirmary; though, most of the students were turned away and told they could visit later, if they wished. Severus, as much as he wanted to see for himself that Hermione was recovering, he wasn't about to make such a spectacle of himself. He turned on his heel and strode off, stopping only when Poppy called out to him.

"Yes?" he asked impatiently.

"I'm running very low on the potions on this list," she said, holding out a small slip of parchment.

He sighed, taking it from her, casting only a cursory glance at it. "Very well," he replied. "I'll have them available this afternoon. For a change, I do not have any detentions to supervise."

Poppy nodded and hurried back to her domain.

Severus, for his part, nearly smiled. He now had a legitimate excuse to enter the infirmary. He wouldn't talk to her, but he would be able to judge for himself that she really was as all right as reported.

xxx

Hermione roused herself as the infirmary door opened and dredged up a small smile when she saw who it was. "Hello," she said softly.

They gathered round her. "Are you really okay, Granger?" Draco asked, actually looking worried.

Hermione frowned.

"Madam Pomfrey said you were," Ron interjected, "but, you scared us, you know."

"We're just guys," Harry added. "What do we know about this sort of thing?"

That got a slight chuckle out of her, her mood lightening just that little bit. "Yes, Harry, I am. I just have to take it easy, that's all."

Draco smirked, although she could still see the unexpected worry in his eyes. "You? Take it easy? Are you going to ask someone to sit on you to keep you still, then?" he asked.

Beside him Ron snorted, earning himself Hermione's full glare, instead of the half one she'd started give the Slytherin prat.

"Did she tell you anything about your new room, Hermione?" Harry asked.

"Just that I'm getting one, so I don't have to climb the stairs to Gryffindor Tower."

"And for the next couple of months," Ron added, "just consider us your loyal servants."

Harry nodded. "You need anything, just ask."

"Speak for yourselves," Draco protested, glaring at Ron, then turning his attention back to her. "Same here, Granger."

Hermione smiled sadly. She had such great friends. "Thanks guys. I suspect I'm going to need that help . . . especially in making sure I don't forget and do too much."

It was Draco's turn to snicker. "Did I call it, or what," he crowed.

"What?" she asked, startled.

Both Harry and Ron rolled their eyes, while Draco simply continued to look smug.

Harry finally shrugged. "When Madam Pomfrey told us what was up, Malfoy basically said you'd have a problem taking it easy."

The four of them talked until Madam Pomfrey kicked them out, saying Miss Granger needed her sleep.

They started out, protesting, but following orders. "We'll be back tomorrow."

Hermione nodded.

As the door closed behind them, Draco stopped. "I'll be right back," he exclaimed and took off running. Rounding the corner, he slowed down, counting to fifteen -- until he was reasonably sure the other two had left -- and doubled back, sneaking into the infirmary. Carefully making his way toward Hermione, he kept a sharp eye out for Pomfrey. This would be a waste of time if he got caught too soon.

"Granger," he whispered, before reaching her bed. He didn't want to startle her into a shreech.

"Draco?" she asked.

He stepped into view, nodding.

"What are you doing here?" she asked "You'll get in trouble if Madam Pomfrey catches you."

"I know. I'll make this quick," he replied. "I just wanted you to know that Professor Snape was outside with the rest of us."

Hermione's eyes lit up a little and her lips curved into the slightest of smiles, which made him glad he'd come.

"He stayed until Pomfrey came out and told us you were going to be alright."

"Madam Pomfrey."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Well, anyway. I'll be off now," he said, suiting action to words.

Hermione's soft, "thank you, Draco," stopped him. He turned, smiled at her and nodded. "You're welcome."

TBC

AN: The phrase, "The alternative is . . . unthinkable." is blatantly snitched from 'Highlander, The Series'. Methos said it.


	46. Chapter Forty Five

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Chapter Forty Five  
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As usual during any meal, breakfast found the Great Hall abuzz with a variety of conversations, most of which changed topics the moment the morning owls began flying in through the windows built specially for them. Nearly every student, either expecting or hoping for mail, eyed the owls as they sought their targets, dropping their deliveries without care to what might be on the table. The quick students saved their mail from danger -- or alternately their meal from their mail. Students slow to react, did not, and whispers of relief and disgusted groans filled the hall as the owls swooped back out again.

Excited voices, ranging from polite whispers to loud exclamations met the revealed mail. Eventually, everyone -- some sooner than others -- turned their attention to the day's Daily Profit. The moment students began unrolling their copies, they fell silent one by one, until the great hall was wreathed in silence. The staff table, nearly as one, frowned as they glanced from one to the other. Snape rose and crossed to the Slytherin table. He did nothing more than stand beside Draco Malfoy and hold out his hand. He had a copy of the paper within seconds.

Impropriety at Hogwarts?  
You decide  
by  
Rita Skeeter

What secrets do the walls of Hogwarts hide from the public,  
from the parents of the students entrusted to her care? Do  
any of you know, or do you bask in contented ignorance? I  
for one, would rather know. When I discovered a pregnant  
student had been allowed to finish her schooling, I immediately  
began investigating this exception to the rules that have  
governed such a fine institution for over a thousand years.  
What I found boggles the mind.

Miss Hermione Granger was discovered to be pregnant during  
the middle of fall term. She was not expelled as is the usual  
procedure. Instead, she has been allowed as much free a reign as  
any other student. 'More freedom,' says one source who wishes  
to remain anonymous. Many of you will remember my reports  
on the seeming laxity of this particular student's morals several  
years ago. It seems time has proven me right.

This pregnant student, who 'flouts her state of disgrace', 'doesn't  
even try to hide it,' has been seen numerous times keeping company  
-- privately -- with a professor of dubious reputation. According  
to my sources; 'She Miss Granger goes down to the dungeons almost  
every day -- after classes are over, and spends hours locked in  
the classroom or one of the labs with him.' Him, being none other  
than the potions master, Professor Severus Snape.

In a surprise occurrence, Miss Granger apparently had difficulties  
with her pregnancy, difficulties that sent her to the school's resident  
mediwitch. Sources have revealed that while she was being treated,  
her 'friends' gathered outside in the hall, waiting anxiously for news  
of her recovery, most of whom were of the male persuasion. Among  
those who waited were the prominant Draco Malfoy, recent inheritor  
of the entire Malfoy Estate with the death of his much lamented father,  
Lucius Malfoy.

One would wonder why such a scion of our society would concern  
himself with such a young woman as she, but this reporter has to wonder  
whether it is possible that he is the baby's unacknowledged  
father . . . or rather, he might think he is. Also seen waiting were  
Ronald Weasley and our hero Harry Potter, both long time  
associates and personal friends of Granger's. Most of you will  
remember that Miss Granger broke young Harry Potter's heart  
by removing her affections to one Victor Krum, Quidditch star. Has  
the Hogwarts Harlot gone on to dabble in other young gentlemen  
now? Has her fickle heart lured other young men to heartbreak?  
Who knows how many young men she has lured into temptation  
with her feminine wiles. Surprisingly, the school's potions master  
was one of those awaiting news of Miss Ganger recovery like an  
impatient suitor.

Even more shocking is the startling news I uncovered during the  
course of my investigation. According to official documents, the  
professor that Granger has been keeping company with Professor  
Snape, was recorded as making legal searches of the Malfoy estate  
will -- specifically in regard to illegitimate issue.

Miss Granger is, even now receiving a monthly stipend from the  
Malfoy estate because she perportedly carries a Malfoy child.  
In fact, according to the paperwork I unearthed, she is, in fact,  
carrying Lucius Malfoy's child. Personally, this reporter finds it  
difficult to believe that Lucius Malfoy, scion of wizarding society  
that he was, would stoop to having an affair with someone so . . . obvious.

I find it far more likely that a cover up of gigantic proportions is going  
on here. It is this reporter's considered opinion that Miss Granger  
is trying to pass off the younger, impressionable, Malfoy's child as  
the older, far more established, Lucius Malfoy's. Who better to help  
her in such an endeavor of decieving a legal test delivered via a  
potion, after all, than her current -- lover? -- a reknowned, if infamous,  
potions master?

We, as concerned citizens, should call for a deeper investigation than  
I, as a mere reporter of the truth, can manage, into the improprieties  
seemingly occuring at the drop of a hat, and into the actions, and inactions,  
of those in charge.

Rally together and protect the youth of today. Let your displeasure ring out!

o

Severus dropped the paper as if scalded, and withdrew his wand -- even as Draco Malfoy reached for the returned paper. "Incendio," he snapped, even as he made the appropriate wand flicks. Beside him, Draco snatched back his hand, glaring up at him a moment before dropping his gaze. Not caring that he'd just destroyed someone else's paper, he strode out of the Great Hall, one destination in mind. As he moved, he was abstractly gratified to note that Potter was handing a copy of the tripe to the headmaster. That meant he wouldn't have to worry about it.

His only concern right now was getting to Hermione. He knew she subscribed to the rag, 'to keep track of the lies half the world believes', and, at the moment, no one was in the infirmary with her. Who knew how badly she might take this latest assault on her integrity. Severus, for one, was not taking any chances. Her emotional stability had been precarious at best since she'd returned from her ordeal, and this sort of thing could tip the scales the wrong direction.

One look at Hermione was enough. She sat there, stony faced and pale, little to no emotion showing in her eyes. The red rimming them, however, gave lie to that emotionless state. She had been crying. Part of him -- a very large part -- was happy that she was no longer crying. He had never been good with crying -- females especially. Comforting was not something he had ever been good at. And of course, time had taught him that comfort came seldomly to most, so had adopted the attitude that it should be rarely given. It was better that way, so the student wouldn't get used to something life handed out so very rarely. Better to accept such things early on, rather than be disappointed by its lack later. He could deal with this dry eyed young woman far better.

Another part, a very small part, felt as though he'd failed her, that she shouldn't have been left alone to face that slanderous article.

She noticed him the moment he stepped closer. Surprisingly, she gave him a wan smile. "I suppose this," she began, waving toward the paper strewn from one side of the infirmary to the other, "means that she finally registered her animagus abilities."

Severus felt his eyebrow arch up, the only visible sign of his confusion. "Pardon?" he asked, moving to stand beside her bed. Her comment had made little to no sense. He hadn't known that the infamous Madam Skeeter even had an animagus form.

Hermione smirked, her face clearing a bit at what was obviously a happy memory. "Fourth year," she explained, "when we were all here after Voldemort's return. We were trying to convince Fudge of _his_ return."

"I remember," Severus replied shortly, the incident still had the power to anger him. The idiot Fudge had prolonged the war against Voldemort by a great deal.

"There was a beetle on the window sill. It was acting oddly, not like a beetle at all."

It took just a moment, but he made the connection. "Skeeter's animagus form is a _beetle_?!" he asked incredulously, laughter threatening to make an appearance.

Hermione nodded, her own smirk growing more pronounced. "I used a jar to catch her; kept her there for a couple of days, too."

Severus did laugh then, the sound coming out as a chortle that caused Hermione's smirk to morph into a smile.

"We blackmailed her," she admitted boldly. "Told her we'd tell on her if she wrote anything bad about Harry or the rest of us."

Shock reverberated through him. That had been the last thing he'd expected to hear from this particular Gryffindor. "How very Slytherin of you," he replied.

She glared at him, but her laughter rather ruined the affect. "Thank you," she retorted, "I think."

"There will, of course, be an investigation," he said softly. "There's no way around it, no matter how scurilous her claims are."

Hermione nodded. "I figured as much."

"Some will believe."

"I figured that as well," she sighed, looking worn and tired.

"Your friends will stick by you," he added awkwardly.

Hermione laughed then. "Yes, I know. It's not the first time that she's written awful things about me. And now that I don't have a hold over her, I doubt it will be the last."

He didn't quite know what to say to that. Ordinarily, he wouldn't say anything at all. He felt rather compelled to now, something he wasn't used to. "You're taking this quite well," he said finally.

She laughed again, but this time it sounded of bitterness instead of humor. "This isn't the worst thing that's ever happened to me," she said, "not nearly. I can handle people like her in my sleep."

Severus suspected that at least half of that surety was pure bravado, but far be it for him -- for a change -- to pull down her house of cards. Let her keep it as long as she was able. Suddenly, she turned back to face him, her gaze softening into what he could only describe as hopeful expectation.

"Does it ever stop?" she asked quietly, almost so much so he could barely hear her.

He stiffened the moment he registered exactly what she'd asked. It would have been easy to misconstrue, accidently or otherwise, but there was no doubt in his mind the topic was that which he least wished to discuss.

"No," he answered shortly.

Silence met his short, harsh answer.

He let out a soft sigh. "It does get better," he offered finally. "The farther away it gets, the longer it will be between the times it blindsides you." He spoke, evenly, quietly, not looking at her, his words referencing her experience, not his own; though, he was speaking from his own experience. It had yet to 'stop' for him, so that was the only reference he had.

She sighed, looking down at her tightly clenched hands, past the blatant evidence of her continuing ordeal. "I had hoped," she whispered, then surprised him by continuing. "Thank you for the truth, Professor."

"Severus," he replied, the offer coming out of nowhere and surprising him almost as much as it probably did her. He didn't look at her to find out. If they were going to be speaking of such very personal things -- though he still wasn't sure he was up to it -- he damned well wasn't going to be called Professor while they did so!

"Severus," she repeated, her voice a breathy whisper of what sounded suspiciously like awe.

"He was under the imperious," he blurted suddenly, wanting to bite his tongue completely off as soon as the words left it.

"What?" Hermione exclaimed, confused. "Who? Lucius?"

He shook his head tightly. "No," he whispered hoarsely, now fully ready to bolt, dignity be damned. He'd come in here to comfort her, not unload more onto her already burdened shoulders.

"Oh!" Hermione gasped suddenly as her mind made the connection. "Ho-- Wha-- Wow," she breathed, sounding utterly flummuxed, uncertain what to say and finally settling on, "ouch."

He snapped his head up, anger rapidly rising for such a seemingly flippant response -- until he saw her expression. That silenced him, long enough for her to continue.

"Confusing," she offered quietly, not saying anything else.

He snorted, disbelieving. Such an understatement. "You could say that," he admitted. He sat silently for several long minutes. He'd never spoken of this to anyone -- not even Hermione really -- and it was both easier and far more difficult than he'd ever imagined it would be. First, his mouth seemed to have developed a mind of its own, since he'd never intended to say anything now, which made it easier. The difficult part was the aftermath, what to say then. Did he continue -- which a growing part of him wanted very much to do -- or did he change the subject, discarding this uncomfortable one forever. He was about to go with the latter, his mind groping for something to say, when Hermione spoke again.

"I can't even begin to imagine how much harder that would have to be," she whispered, almost as if to herself.

Severus' head snapped up and he stared at her, wondering at her choice of words. In his experience most people tried to convince you they understood what you were going through, that it would be all right. She hadn't, yet had acknowledged that she _did_ understand that it had to be difficult. He breathed a sigh of relief, a tension releasing throughout him.

"Your head would know that the person wasn't responsible, but your heart wouldn't give a rat's arse."

He huffed out a choked laugh, not believing the sound had come from him, not about this. Before he realized what was happening, his mouth once again had taken over and he was speaking in quiet, even tones, his voice almost a whisper. He spoke not only of the memory flashes, the pensieve trip, and the failing obliviate, but when he'd done that, found he couldn't seem to stop speaking, her unjudging silence a surprising impetus to continue. He began speaking of the incident itself, brought back into stark relief by the earlier flashback.

When he began to speak of the words James Potter had spoken, he could not fail to see the look of confusion that passed through Hermione's expression, and was shocked to realize he was amused by her continuing silence. He had never thought to see the day that Hermione Granger remained silent in the face of puzzlement -- about anything. It would wait, however, since he didn't think he could begin again if he stopped now to explain James' name calling. He did skip over the most crucial . . . details, however, speaking instead, of how he'd heard her calling out to him during the flashback, how it had been her who had relieved him of having to relive the entire event.

He shocked himself to the core then, not understanding in the least why he was telling anyone at all, let alone this particular _student_. It would seem she had enough to bear and he would only be making everything worse. Somehow, she accepted it all, his words, his confessions, and the tears that were now falling freely. She neither commented nor acknowledged them in anyway, her gaze steady and even.

"When I left the pensieve memory, I began to wonder what he felt like afterwards, whether or not he ever told anyone. Whether he had gone to Albus or not, and I couldn't help but wonder if he'd known all these years and never said -- or _did_ -- anything." His throat closed off as those words fell from his mouth, absolutely certain he had gone too far.

That made her react. She visibly bit back some retort, perhaps an automatic denial. As he sat frozen, words of harsh setback, and orders to forget everything he'd said hovering on his tongue, she opened and closed her mouth several times, before shaking her head as if to clear out her shock.

He winced, tensing to stand and leave.

"I _want_ to say he would _never_ let something like that go," she said quietly, her eyes still locked on his. "But, I suspect that I am missing some crucial information that would make you feel as though the headmaster would betray you that way," she continued firmly, her words and tone never betraying the question he _knew_ she wanted to ask, was in fact, peeking out from her eyes -- though, he had to give her credit for trying to hide her curiosity. It was certainly more than most Gryffindors would even attempt.

Another bitter laugh escaped him and he began to wonder where the hell all his vaunted self-control had flown to, because it sure as hell wasn't within him right now. Merlin! They were talking about this in the bloody infirmary, where anyone and their brother could just waltz right in. Shock stole the thought away from him as Hermione's words truly penetrated, making him realize something he'd never thought possible. "Are you telling me that Potter never _told_ you?"

She frowned, blinking in confusion at the seeming tangent. "Told me what?" she asked, right on cue.

Severus frowned, uncertain. He'd assumed -- incorrectly, it seemed -- that she knew what Potter had seen in his penseive that day two years ago. Now, he wasn't so sure that he wished to bring this to light as well. Some small part of him -- which it seemed had never moved on from that frustrating teenage need to be approved of -- feared that perhaps, her knowledge of the outcast child he had been would change her opinion of him, once again making him an object of ridicule.

"An incident in my 5th year here, that left the perpetrators unpunished," he hedged, hoping that was enough, knowing, deep inside it wasn't. Students got away with 'incidents' all the time. Even the term 'incident' didn't begin to convey the near disaster of that night. It didn't take long; though, she didn't say anything, for it to show that she didn't understand. The question was, did he want her to? He nearly rolled his eyes, when he realized that, yes, he did want her to understand. For the first time since the headmaster had failed to do just that, he actively wanted someone to see his side, to understand why that night had stuck with him so far into adulthood. He was tired of seeming like a petty child simply because he refused to 'make nice' with those who had tried to kill him -- nearly succeeding; would have succeeded if not for James Bloody Potter.

In that same quiet voice, the one he hadn't known he had before today, he began slowly recounting that horrible night so many years ago. In some ways it was more difficult than his other revelations -- she'd already known about the other . . . just not in as much detail. This was new. This was something that could also make _him_ look bad. By the time he was finished, Hermione was gaping openly, and he felt like a school yard tattle-tale. He dropped his head back as his eyes closed in weariness, taking a deep cleansing breath.

"Well, that certainly explains a lot," she exclaimed quietly, then shook her head in disbelief. "If anyone but you had told me that, it would seem impossible," she said. "What I don't understand, is _why_. How could he do that?"

Her unquestioning acceptance of his words as truth, released something deep inside of Severus, and a tiny portion of the deep, abiding hurt, healed . . . just a little bit. "Which he?" Severus asked, not entirely certain who she meant. From her point of view, she could be questioning any of the parties involved.

Her eyes widened in epiphany. "Any of them, really, but I meant the headmaster."

"I assure you, Black was very capable of what he almost did that night," Severus hissed angrily. "He was always the worst of the bunch."

Again, he watched Hermione's perceptions switch gears; though, this time she didn't speak, so he had no clue what had shifted inside her mind. He kicked himself for the last, now she was wondering more. Was he ever going to be the same again, or was this blurting things out before his brain could analyze them a permanent condition? He certainly hoped not. It was potentially embarrassing, and highly disconcerting. Not to mention, it was so . . . Gryffindorish.

It wasn't until he stood to leave that he realized there was a silencing charm around them. Who? He paled, wondering at what point in the conversation someone had come in and thought it was needed. More than that, he was wondering how he hadn't noticed. He hoped it was Poppy. When it came to what happened in her infirmary -- including any conversations she happened to overhear -- she was the soul of discretion. Beware any _other_ secrets, however, as they were fair game in gossip central . . . i.e. the staff lounge.

"Thank you, Severus," Hermione said quietly.

He arched an eyebrow in shock. He couldn't think of thing he'd done she could possibly be thanking him for. "Whatever for?" he asked, only just keeping the automatic sneer off his face.

She shrugged as if it wasn't all that important, then belied that with her next words. "For trusting me, for talking to me, for taking my mind off my problems long enough to put them into perspective." She shrugged again, one corner of her mouth turning up into a half smile. "For being you, I guess."

Shocked to the core, he said the first thing that came to mind. "Odd, to be thanking someone for being themselves," he said stiffly. Then he worried about offending her. He shouldn't have, he realized a moment later. She laughed.

"True, but there it is."

He shook his head, wondering -- not for the first time -- when a Gryffindor student had suddenly been elevated to what could be loosely termed his 'best friend'.

TBC


	47. Chapter Forty Six

AN: Sry that I haven't done many of these. Right now, I just want to really thank every single person who has reviewed and let me know what they think of this story. It keeps me going. : )

Troesnaja: No, she most definitely hasn't put two and two together about the baby, Draco, and Ron. It will be interesting when she does, though.  
Megami-Slytherin: Sry it took me so long to respond! I would be absolutely delighted and honored to have this story translated. Just let me know where it's going up, so I can post a link to it when I get my website back up and running.

Thanks again for your wonderful reviews. : )

xxxxxxxxxx  
Chapter Forty Six  
xxxxxxxxxx

March slid into April and as everyone who knew Hermione had predicted, her temper flared . . . frequently. Frustrated and scared, she lashed out at those closest to her, those trying to help. Between fighting her own sense of independence, dealing with the sneering cold shoulders caused by Skeeter's article, and putting up with the investigative officials from the Ministry she was lucky if she managed to end the day without a pounding headache. Today was not one of those lucky days. Right now, she was on her way to the infirmary, current shadow in tow -- usually, better known as her friend, Draco.

She had just left her interview with the lead official from the Department of Impropriety -- she hadn't even known that _was_ a department! -- and she was, as the saying went, mad enough to spit. Beside her, Draco remained suspiciously quiet, not something he often did. That blasted, officious _cow_ had wanted her to take veritiserum, had tried to force the issue, in fact.

o

o

ooo "Miss Granger, your outright refusal to cooperate will not sit well. It reeks of dirty secrets and will result--"

"As I have repeatedly stated," Hermione interrupted with jaw clenched so tightly her teeth ached, "I am not refusing to give evidence under veritiserum, I am simply saying it will have to wait, until I am no longer pregnant. Veritiserum, as with most powerful potions, is contraindicated during pregnancy, due to the danger of fetal injury."

"If it's a child of rape," Madam Towen sneered, obviously disbelieving her claim, "then why would you care?"

Poppy intervened before Hermione could jump all over the bloody cow, thankfully giving her time to calm down and rein in her frustration and anger -- not to mention her flaring disgust.

"As Miss Granger's mediwitch of record, I forbid the use of Veritiserum until after the birth of her child. Since you already have the drugged statements of all the others named in that horrid, malicious article -- that all match up to what Miss Granger is saying here -- you have no need to drug Miss Granger at all.

Madam Towen straightened stiffly, clearly outraged. "Miss Granger is the only person who can verify her own feelings toward the other participants," she protested angrily. "Not to mention she is the only person who can verify her _claims_ of rape by Lucius Malfoy!"

Hermione paled at the mention of _his_ name. She opened her mouth for a scathing retort, but this time was prevented from further angering the official by the headmaster's timely interruption.

"As to the first, her feelings are irrelevent, as long as she has not acted on them -- which ample evidence has been given to support. She could have a crush on every Professor here and Corneleus Fudge for all I care, as long as she kept that information to herself until after she graduated. End of discussion."

Hermione had never seen the headmaster this way, and now she was seeing the powerful wizard that Voldemort had always feared. She sat in awe. He didn't yell, or curse, or even do much more than sit up straight, but it was how he did it. She couldn't really explain the difference, just that he seemed an entirely different person right now. Powerful and dangerous. She wouldn't want to cross him.

"As to the other, that can also wait."

Madam Towen got no further than opening her mouth when the headmaster's glare made her snap it shut.

"The man is dead, Madam, so unless Miss Granger chooses to press charges for reparation against his estate, I can see no reason that criminal investigation should ever come before the wizengamut."

"But she has defamated a prominant citizen's good name! She is, even now, claiming the child is his and receiving monetary support from his estate because of it. That has to be stopped!"

"Silence!" Albus shouted, startling everyone.

Hermione jumped an inch or more off her seat.

"Paternity has been established via accepted legal routes," he said firmly, his voice back to normal. "Furthermore, you have veritiserum induced testimony that the allegation that Professor Snape assisted her in 'cheating' on those proofs of paternity are patently false. Therefore, you have no claim to protest the monies received, as they would be due her regardless of _how_ the child has been conceived."

"Even you, Albus Dumbledore, are not above the rules," Towen sneered. "Part of this investigation is into how the staff is negligent in its duties in enforcing rules that have been in place for hundreds of years to protect the students. Allowing a girl, careless enough to fall pregnant, to continue on without consequences is inexcusable."

"Without consequences!" Hermione yelped. "You officious, smug, _cow_!" A hand on her arm pulled her from her rant and she subsided, but retained her glare at the unfair and untrue accusation.

"As the headmaster of this school, and head of the wizengamut," Professor Dumbledore intoned firmly, "the veracity of Miss Granger's claims were confirmed from _several_ sources present for the crime in question. It was decided, as with all young ladies in Miss Granger's particular situation, that her schooling would continue."

"But--"

"End of discussion," Dumbledore snapped. "That is an in-school decision and is no pervue of the Ministry."

"I simply must--"

"And if you insist on forcing this issue, I will most assuredly bring to the attention of your superiors your willful, _criminal_ disregard for the health and welfare of an unborn infant." ooo

o

o

Shortly after that pronouncement, Madam Towen had marched her officious behind out of Hogwarts, taking her offended dignity and righteous snit along with her. It had, however, also left Hermione's head pounding even as the relief at seeing the backside of that . . . woman slumped her shoulders. She shook her head, regretting it instantly as the constant pounding ache that she could almost relegate to the back of her mind flared into driving spikes of pain. "Ow," she whimpered, closing her eyes a brief moment. _I'm almost to the infirmary,_ she told herself firmly. _I can make it that far._

She didn't comment when Draco took her arm, supporting her; she merely sighed in relief. They were still two hallways away from the infirmary and her headache was blossoming into a migraine of spectacular proportions. By the time they rounded the last corner toward the infirmary, she was ready to drop to her knees, the magical torch light becoming blinding. She closed her eyes instantly, trusting in Draco to lead her the last 50 feet or so until blessed pain relief could be sought directly from Madam Pomfrey's hand. She just hoped the mediwitch had gone there after leaving the headmaster's office.

"Mother!" Draco exclaimed beside her, startling her.

Eyes flying open, despite the piercing light, her jaw dropped as she looked at Narcissa Malfoy. The woman was nothing like what Hermione had come to expect from the last time she had seen her. She nodded weakly to Draco, who was obviously torn. "Go ahead," she whispered. "I can make it alone."

He hesitated briefly, then nodded. "Thank you," he said, moving toward his mother.

"You bitch!" Mrs. Malfoy screamed.

Hermione winced, whimpering as the words tore through her head like two separate ice daggers. Nausea sent the contents of her stomach back up and she dropped to her knees.

"Mother!" Draco exclaimed a second time, this time in disbelieving shock.

Hermione looked up only to freeze, her mind unable to process what she was seeing past the grinding pain.

"NO!" Draco shouted as Mrs. Malfoy's wand arm came up.

As she muttered the words to a spell Hermione did not know, Draco cried out again, this time rushing forward and stepping between the two.

Hermione screamed, her world exploding.

Draco fell to the ground, his blood spurting from numerous vicious wounds across his body, splattering Hermione.

She was slowly raising her own wand, desperately trying to remember a spell, any spell, with which to subdue Mrs. Malfoy, but her mind was a white blank of blinding nothingness. She vaguely thought she heard a shouted, "stupefy", before she passed out.

x-x-x

Severus, intent on reaching the infirmary, furious not even beginning to describe his current mood, froze for a crucial half-second as Draco fell to the ground, sliced open by one of Severus' own hexes. He gasped out an enraged, "stupefy", instantly dropping Lucius' widow to the floor. Ignoring the fallen witch, he raced toward Draco. Torn on who to go to first, he realized that Draco's need was most probably higher, blood loss being the fast killer that it was.

He dropped to his knees next to his godson. "Poppy!" he shouted out, not bothering with a sonorous spell, not as close to the infirmary as they were, and quickly set about healing the worst of the bleeding wounds with the limited healing spells he knew.

Poppy came racing out into the hall before he had done more than slow the bleeding on the worst of Draco's wounds.

He breathed a sigh of relief as she efficiently took over, quickly healing Draco's injuries one after the other.

"Professor," Draco whispered hoarsely.

Severus snapped his head around, surprised that Draco was doing more than whimpering. "Relax," he ordered quietly.

Draco snorted, wincing as he did so, shaking his head. "I understand," he said, pausing for breath, "now."

Severus frowned in confusion. "You understand what now?" he asked, leaning closer.

"Why someone would die to protect someone else."

Severus' eyes widened as, suddenly, a conversation that had taken place in a deserted hallway late one night in early September came roaring back. "You're not going to die, Mr. Malfoy," he stated firmly, a smirk appearing as profound relief melted Draco's expression.

"I'm not?" he asked, his voice weak and tired.

"No. You are not. Madam Pomfrey would be very upset if you did so."

Draco laughed, just as Severus had intended, then whimpered. "Ow," he complained. "Don't make me laugh," he begged. "It hurts."

In a classic delayed reaction, Severus realized just what Draco had meant. "That curse wasn't aimed at you?" he asked, diverting his attention to Hermione who lay still, on the floor not ten feet away.

"No," he whispered, shaking his head, then grimaced as Poppy held out a potion.

"Drink," she ordered, carefully lifting his head so he could swallow without choking.

He obeyed, but judging by his expression wasn't happy about it . . . for all of two seconds. His disgusted grimace morphed into a relieved sigh. "Thank you!" he whispered fervently, the pain filled lines on his face easing as the pain relieving potion took effect.

Poppy rushed to Hermione, then. "What happened to her?" she asked, wand already out and casting a diagnostic.

"Headache, bad. Sicked up after Mother called her a bitch, screaming at her. Then she passed out," Draco said, using as few words as humanly possible and still actually convey a meaning. He struggled to sit up, and Severus ,who held himself rigidly in place to prevent himself from rushing to Hermione's side, helped him to do so.

"She wasn't hit by any stray hexes, then?" Poppy demanded.

"No."

"Simple migraine," Poppy diagnosed a minute later, her posture relaxing, even as she kept working.

A tension, Severus hadn't realized was cramping his muscles, bled out of him, leaving him feeling like he wanted to slump to the floor, himself. He didn't, however, rising to his feet instead. Withdrawing his wand, in time to see Albus and Minerva kneel beside Narcissa, he efficiently cast the stretcher spell beneath Draco, and levitated it -- quite suddenly.

"Oi!" Draco yelped, grabbing the invisible sides.

Severus smirked, bending close enough to whisper into his errant godson's ear. "Would it not have been more prudent to cast a stupefy, stopping your mother from casting her spell, instead of doing the _Gryffindor_ thing and leaping in front of the curse?" he hissed, half amused, half horrified that his godson had so endangered his life without thought.

Completely ignoring the odd expression the combination of outrage and sheepish realization made on the young man's face, Severus strode behind his floating godson, sneer firmly planted in place. His mind firmly rooted in concentrating on his current task, he struggled not to think about just how close he had come to losing both of them. All too easily, Narcissa could have gotten the jump on them, instead of being stupified and in custody. He shook his head, driving out unwanted images of what _could_ have happened.

To all appearances, he also ignored the figure Poppy floated beside him, despite the fact that the truth was quite the opposite of appearance. She should have been awake by now, and her continued unconsciousness worried him a great deal. He kept that concern to himself. Poppy might be the sole of discretion when it came to medical matters, but if she even suspected that something untoward was going on between them -- no matter how one sided it may be -- she would be off to Albus as fast as a misfired hex found a first year, and that was something neither of them could afford.

He snorted mentally. Despite that farce of an investigation proving their 'innocence', neither of their reputations could withstand another assault of that nature. They were already being watched like fish in a glass bowl. No sense adding fuel to the flames, especailly since even innocent gestures of friendship could so easily be misconstrued by any one of those not-so-innocent watchers, and that would be the end of both their academic careers -- not to mention any chance of Hermione gaining respectable and well-paying employment after she graduated. _If_ she graduated.

"I can walk, Professor," Draco objected, jerking Severus from his unproductive thoughts.

Beside him, Poppy's snort beat his own by a mere fraction of a second, confirming his opinion satisfactorily.

Draco rolled his eyes as he lie back and relaxed against the invisible stretcher, wisely giving up protesting against the involuntary ride.

"You are not walking anywhere until I say so, Mr. Malfoy," Poppy ordered sternly. "You may not be feeling any pain at the moment, but that doesn't mean it isn't there.

He smirked at the poorly hidden second eye roll. It seemed, he mused, that Poppy had not lost her touch -- over protective as always.

_And you're any different?_ his inner voice snarked at him. He ignored it.

"Put him in that bed," Poppy ordered as she lowered Hermione onto another.

He did as commanded, purposely vanishing the spell while the now quite healed Slytherin was still several inches above the hospital bed. The resulting yelp was quite satisfying, even if he did say so himself. It was even worth the other result.

"Severus Snape!" Poppy snapped, seemingly without removing her attention from her current charge.

Severus knew better and turned an innocent look her direction.

"Don't give me that look, _Professor_," Poppy snorted, amused, smoothing the covers over Hermione. "I know you too well for that to work."

She did, too, Severus knew. After all, she had known him since his first year at Hogwarts. In fact, she had been the second of Hogwarts' staff that he had met, needing her services straight off the Hogwarts Express. Hagrid had, of course, been the first, and Severus held a soft spot in his mostly bitter heart for the gentle man who had picked up a badly hexed first year as if he'd weighed no more than a sack of potatos and carried him all the way from the boats to the infirmary.

Incompetent as a professor he may be, but a better person could not be found. Severus snorted. Just don't trust him to keep a secret . . . or choose your pets. Both ideas were inherently dangerous propositions.

Returning his attention to his own charge -- who was now eyeing him oddly -- his smirk faded and his eyes hardened.

Draco shrank down from where he had sat himself up in bed, looking much like a chastened and highly embarrassed first year.

"Mr. Malfoy," Severus hissed, anger overtaking everything else he was feeling now that everyone seemed out of immediate danger. "As much as I am gratified to see such quick action in the defense of a fellow student -- 20 points to Slytherin -- if I catch you acting like the most obnoxious of Gryffindors _ever_ again, you will find yourself serving nightly detention until you graduate -- 21 points _from_ Slytherin."

Draco winced, dropping his gaze, leaving unvoiced his objection that he hadn't truly been intending to 'jump in front of' the spell his mother had been beginning to cast. He'd only meant to subdue her; maybe, throw her aim off. It hadn't even bloody occurred to him to hex his mother!

"Are we clear," Severus demanded, stepping closer to his student's bed.

"Crystal, Professor."

Severus nodded and turned to leave. He was not surprised to make it no more than two steps before he was stopped. _Confession time._

"So, who is it?" Draco asked.

He turned only his head, smirking at his godson. "Who is what, Mr. Malfoy?" he asked, knowing full well what the answer was.

Draco frowned, his expression turning as serious as it had been when he'd thought he was going to die. "Who would you die to protect?" he asked, his voice as respectful as Severus had ever heard it.

Eyes narrowing thoughtfully, he stared at the young Slytherin long enough to make the Slytherin in question fidget just the slightest. "You disappoint me, Draco," he replied quietly. "I would have thought you would have figured it out by now."

Draco's eyes lit up with apparent understanding and Severus wondered if the boy's conclusion was accurate. He nodded said understanding instead of verbalising it. His eyes, however, gave him away. They darted sideways -- involuntarily, no doubt -- toward his sleeping classmate.

Severus chuckled, even as he froze inside, wondering just how bloody obvious he'd been. "As true as that may, or may not, be, and as perceptive or obtuse as the conclusion may also be--"

_Why in Merlin's name did I admit to even that much?_

"--I believe we are speaking of my response on the night you originally asked that question. Are we not?"

Eyes widening, a slight blush staining his pale cheeks, Draco nodded. "Yes," he replied. "We are."

After another long -- calculated -- pause, Severus spoke, his voice quiet and intense. "There are many for whom I would risk _possible_ death, and have, in fact, done so several times in my career as a professor."

"Potter," Draco sneered.

_Ah so the breech is not so cleanly healed as appearances make out,_ Severus realized suddenly.

"Among others," he replied easily. "However, I believe you were speaking of something a bit more . . . personal?"

Again Draco nodded, looking wide eyed and nearly frozen in place.

Severus eyed Draco thoughtfully for several long moments, carefully considering what he was going to say next. "There are four people I would _willingly_ trade my life to protect," he admitted softly, then smirked. "But you are only entitled to know one."

"Who?" Draco whispered when it looked as though he may not continue.

"You," Severus replied bluntly, shocking the boy.

Draco's eyes widened impossibly, a suspiciously bright sheen appearing in them. "Why?" he asked, incredulous. "Why me? What is so special about _me_?"

Severus, well aware that Draco's words asked far more than was readily apparent, once again carefully considered how to answer. "While I _wither_ at the prospect of bursting that wonderfully egotistical bubble of yours," he began slowly -- if sarcastically. "The heart, which has complete control over such ludicrously selfless acts, knows no such logic. There is no rhyme, nor reason, as to 'why'. It simply is."

Draco let out a harsh breath that hinted at a repressed sob.

Severus 'politely' ignored the evidence, watching as Draco turned his head to stare out the window next to his bed. "So, I really will never know why," he whispered, sounding more like he was talking to himself than his observer.

"Never know?" Severus asked anyway, believing the boy would never even hear him, intently as he appeared to be concentrating on whatever it was he saw. Severus was wrong.

"Why Crabbe and Goyle did what they did. I mean, what I did was stupid enough, but at least I didn't jump in front of an Avada."

Severus shuddered, the words, _would you have?_ hovering on his tongue. He didn't ask them, however, firmly believing that he was probably better off not knowing the answer to that particular question.

_Everyone is entitled to **one** illusion,_ he thought rebelliously. "As I recall," he said aloud, "I told you as much that night."

Draco nodded. "Yes," he admitted, "you did." A very reassuring smirk appearing, he continued. "I just didn't believe you."

Severus snorted, rolling his own eyes. "Why am I not surprised?" he drawled drily.

Draco laughed genuinely then. "Vast decades of experience?" he asked cheekily, one of the few young people alive who could get away with it.

Severus frowned sourly. "If you're well enough for such cheek," he drawled, "then you're definitely going to live. I have things to do," he ended abruptly, once again stepping away.

A soft, "thank you," from behind him made him pause, however.

"You are welcome, Mr. Malfoy," he replied just as quietly.

"Now, then, Mr. Malfoy," Poppy interrupted, handing Draco a potion. "Drink up and rest."

"What is it?" he asked warily, even as he accepted the vial.

Severus frowned at him, and Draco blushed instantly.

He carefully eyed the potion, taking a cautious sniff. He started, jerking his head around to stare accusingly at the mediwitch. "Why are you giving me dreamless sleep?" he demanded.

Poppy frowned at him and Severus smirked. Not all of his students would have been able to identify the potion that readily. Involuntarily, his own eyes slide sideways, silently observing one of the few others who could have done so.

"Experience," Poppy snapped. "You need to rest, and I'm here to make sure you get it. Now, drink."

With one last defiant pause, Draco obeyed, lying down just before he potion took complete affect.

Sighing in relief as his godson fell into magically induced sleep, Severus turned to leave for the third time, this time assured that no soul-baring question would stop him. Unfortunately, what it didn't mean was a guarantee that he would make it to the actual exit.

He stopped just as he was about to pass Hermione's bed, his eyes drawn against his will to her still form. His chest tightened, a sharp band constricting, making breathing a chore as he stared at the friend he had almost lost. A ball that felt the size of a practice bludger in his throat, he made a decision that was completely contrary to his sense of self preservation. He wasn't going to lose this friend come graduation time. He wasn't going to let her simply walk out of his life without at least trying. He was, in fact, going to do what he could to maintain contact with this yong woman after she left Hogwarts. He was no longer willing to let her disappear out of his life for good.

_What if she **wants** to disappear?_ he thought suddenly, wincing. Barring that scenario, he amended.

"Oh, for sweet Merlin!" Poppy exclaimed, exasperated. "Just go sit by the girl," she urged, nodding in Hermione's direction.

Severus turned abruptly toward the mediwitch, astonished, his eyebrow arching sharply upward. "I beg your pardon?" he hissed.

Her expression softened instantly, a soft smile playing across her face. "It'll do her good to have a _friend_ sit with her."

Severus' frown deepened -- one he seemed to be perpetually wearing these days -- thinking any one of her school friends would be better suited to that task than he would, but before he could form a suitable retort, she continued.

"A _quiet_ friend."

Drawing himself up to his full, usually intimidating height, Severus' frown shifted to a sneer. "And just what makes you assume that _I_ would be qualified to fill that position?" he demanded, attempting to put some distance between them . . . for both of their sakes. Their growing friendship was private, definitely not for public consumption. Once again, however, Poppy was not fooled, nor was she going to let him off the hook this time.

She scoffed openly, giving him a presumptuous push toward the bed. "Every Professor here knows the girl has turned to you for help through her current troubles; though, most of them can't figure out why. You've got them as stumped as you always have."

Stiffening, Severus waited for the axe to fall, waited for Poppy to say she couldn't understand it either, that it was a mystery why anyone would turn to him.

"Seems as clear as day to me," she said instead, once again surprising him. "Needed a dose of normal is what I say," she continued, nodding firmly, then turned to face him, her expression as serious as he'd ever seen it outside of a medical emergency. "You may not have been nice to the girl, but that wasn't what she was looking for that day she went to serve an unearned detention, now was it?" Before he could reply, Poppy simply shook her head, her gaze wandering to the still sleeping girl.

"We all bent over backwards trying to make everything all right again, and I'm afraid it was the wrong thing to do." She snorted. "Of course, all of us acting like nothing had happened wouldn't have been right either. So, I suppose it worked out for the best after all."

Severus nodded absently. He'd come to the same conclusion long ago. It had long since moved beyond that, however, at least on his part. He hoped on hers as well. "Perhaps," was all he admitted to.

TBC  
Kiristeen


	48. Chapter Forty Seven

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Chapter Forty Seven  
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Draco sat up abruptly, rushing out of sleep in an adrenaline rush of momentary terror.

_Infirmary!_

As the instant realization of what had almost happened, of what he'd _done_, settled around him, he began trembling. It started as small body-wide tremors that were _almost_ ignorable, but quickly grew into near muscular spasms that shook his entire body and didn't allow him to do anything but curl into ball.

_I could have died!_ he thought in panicked realization. _How could I have been so . . . stupid?!_

_"Would it not have been more prudent to cast a stupefy, stopping your mother from casting her spell, instead of doing the Gryffindor thing and leaping in front of the curse?"_

_I'd do it again . . . in an instant,_ came the completely unbidden thought, and his trembling ceased as abruptly as it had begun, shock stealing through him like a dementor's presence. He was oddly numb at the thought, but realized, despite the utter preposterousness of it, it was actually true. He shuddered. He'd deserve every detention and every point that Professor Snape would take in that unlikely scenario, he decided suddenly. Then, realized that even that wouldn't stop him. It was a terrifying conclusion. He groaned. _It's contagious!_ he thought in absolute mortification, chuckling then, just a little. _Gryffindoritis was contagious, who knew?_

It was several minutes before he got his confused amusement -- edged slightly with rather understandable hysteria -- under control enough to notice the sleeping red-head in the chair next to his bed. He blinked twice before it truly penetrated that Ron was standing -- or sitting rather -- vigil by his bedside. That undeniable fact sent a rush of joyous feeling through him. He swallowed convulsively in response, reaching a shaking hand out to touch his . . . _fiance_. "Ron," he whispered, having no way of knowing who else was in hearing distance.

Ron startled awake, nearly falling out of the chair he had been sleeping in as he jumped.

"Draco!" he exclaimed, leaping to his feet. "You scared me!" he continued, his voice dropping to a near whisper.

"Sorry," Draco replied just as quietly. And he was, sorry. He hadn't meant to scare anyone, let alone Ron. He'd simply stopped thinking when he'd seen his mother take aim at Hermione, the woman carrying the child he planned to adopt, the child he already considered his. His mother! Suddenly torn between his concerns, he didn't know what to ask about first. He finally settle for, "are they okay?"

Ron nodded. "Yes, they are. Both Hermione and the baby are fine."

Draco swallowed heavily. Apparently, he would have to ask specifically; though, why he thought otherwise was beyond him. Of course Ron wouldn't think about how he might feel about his mother.

"Your mother's fine, too," Ron added, surprising him. "She's in custody, of course, but healthy--" He frowned, pausing before continuing. "Physically."

"Physically?" Draco asked, frowning, himself. "What do you mean?"

Ron shrugged. "I'm not sure, really," he replied. "I just know they took her to St. Mungo's, not to the Ministry."

Draco threw back his covers and swung his feet over the edge of the bed. He had to find out what was going on with his mother.

"Draco!" Ron exclaimed, jumping up. "What are you doing?"

Draco rolled his eyes as he stood. "I'm finding out what's happening with my mother," he replied drily. Unfortunately, the moment he gained his feet, a wave of dizziness swept over him, making him sway.

Thankfully, Ron grabbed his arm before he could fall.

"Mr. Malfoy," Pomfrey's firm voice sounded from behind him, startling him, "you will get yourself right back in that bed this second!"

Draco ground his teeth together, determined to have his way in this matter. "I need to find out what's happening with my mother," he replied firmly, quietly.

Madam Pomfrey's eyes softened instantly. Unfortunately, that didn't seem to change her stance on his getting out of bed.

"You can do that just as well from bed, young man. Now, up with you."

Draco's frown deepened and he glared briefly, but didn't really feel up to arguing.

Once the mediwitch assured herself he was sufficiently 'tucked in', she stood straight, nodding toward him. "I'll just go let the headmaster know you're awake and asking questions. I'm sure he'll be here shortly to fill you in." Then, before Draco or Ron could say a single word, she was striding away, leaving the two of them alone again.

Draco glared after her long after she'd disappeared out of the infirmary, before allowing his gaze to wonder to the bed Hermione had been placed in last night. She wasn't there. "Where is Hermione?"

"She's back in her room. She left last night after her migraine was taken care of." Ron shook his head then, grinning crookedly. "Madam Pomfrey almost didn't let her go, but Hermione insisted that a headache -- that was already gone -- was no reason to continue taking up bedspace."

"I'm surprised it worked."

"Me too," Ron agreed, his grin growing. "Just between you and me, I think Madam Pomfrey got tired of the nagging."

Draco snorted. He could _so_ see that!

Madam Pomfrey returned shortly after that, barely slowing as she passed his bed. "I've arranged to have your breakfast brought up, Mr. Malfoy," she said, then threw over her shoulder as she continued moving toward her office. "I've also arranged yours Mr. Weasley."

Ron's jaw dropped open and his eyes widened in surprise. "Thanks!" he exclaimed happily.

Madam Pomfrey waved off his thanks as she disappeared into her office, closing the door behind her.

"She's never done that before," Ron said, sounding awed.

"I'm just special," Draco replied, smirking.

Before Ron could reply, however, the headmaster walked through the door and headed straight toward them.

Draco sat tensely, all thoughts of silly playing and laughter drained from him as he dreaded what the headmaster was going to tell him. What was going on with his mother? What was going to happen to her?

"Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Weasley," Headmaster Dumbledore greeted them quietly, nodding once to each in turn. "You are feeling well, I assume," he asked as he seated himself on an easily conjured chair.

Draco nodded once. "Yes, Sir," he replied quietly. "How is my mother?" he asked, deciding just this once to be blunt. He really didn't think he could take the headmaster's usual round of niceties right now.

For the very first time _ever_, Draco wished to see that infernal twinkle in the headmaster's eyes. The usually infuriating light would be very welcome right about now, because it would mean that nothing major was wrong. The fact that it was entirely missing as the headmaster met his gaze was disheartening and Draco fought not to slump or look away.

"I'm afraid, Mr. Malfoy, that to all appearances, your mother is not completely sane," Headmaster Dumbledore told him quietly.

Draco winced, grateful when Ron's hand fell on his shoulder, squeezing comfortingly. He just wished that such a simple gesture really could make it all better. "Do you think it's a permanant condition," he asked, "or do you think, maybe, she has simply had something of a . . . breakdown?"

The headmaster shook his head. "I don't know, Mr. Malfoy. That is something you will have to ask her medi-wizard. I am no expert."

Almost growling in response, Draco barely held back his demand for the headmaster's _opinion_. He wasn't asking for a professional medical answer; for that he _would_ go to the person in charge of her care. He simply wanted to know what the headmaster thought about the matter. The wizard sitting there had seen her, after all; talked to her, presumably.

x-x-x

April 30th

Hermione now all but lived in the library. Of course, she did. NEWTS were coming up, something she actually hadn't paid much attention to this year, surprising herself no less than everyone else who knew her. Her current shadow, Harry, was not real happy to be stuck in said library, it being such a beautiful day outside. To his credit, however, he did use the time to do _some_ revising of his own.

Unfortunately, she hadn't studied as much this year -- not even counting her unwilling absence for most of first term -- as she would have liked, and now she was paying the price. To the frustration of all her shadows that payment was being made in sheer, unmitigated panic. As many hours as she could cram in during the day, she was here, in the library, absorbing as much information as she could. She resented every moment that her _shadows_ made her stop to eat, sleep, and to _**rest**_.

In the week following her last stay in the infirmary, it had suddenly dawned on her that she really didn't have that much time left, and that was really not sitting well.

Stretching, her fists pushed into the small of her back -- her aching back -- Hermione glanced around the well-occupied room. She shook her head. The closer NEWTS came, the more people started cramming. She just wished she wasn't one of them. It was the first time _ever_ that she hadn't studied long hours all year long. Heaving a heartfelt sigh, she resolutely returned her attention to her book.

"You'll do great, Hermione," Harry said suddenly, though quietly, startling her.

She frowned. "What, Harry?"

He shook his head at her, smiling slightly. "I said, you'll do great."

She shook her head again, this time in denial.

"Yes, you will," he pushed. "Even if you closed that book now and didn't crack another one until after the NEWTS are over, you'd still get mostly O's, and you and I both know it."

"I do _not_ know that, Harry James Potter!" she hissed, well screeched really. "I'm so far behind in everything! I've only covered the last month's worth of material once, some of it I've only skimmed. I haven't done half the supplementary reading that I need to do! At this rate, I'm going to fail!"

"Hermione!" Harry exclaimed, jumping out of his chair and pulling her into an awkward hug. "Calm down. You . Are . Not . Going . To . Fail," he continued pointedly. Pulling back slightly, he looked directly into her eyes. "I'm not saying don't study, okay? I'm just saying, no way are you going to fail."

"But how can you be sure?" she asked, really disliking the whine her voice had developed. How could he be so sure. She certainly wasn't!

He smiled at her again, and right at that moment in time she _really_ wanted to slap it off his face. She gasped as the impulse hit her hard and she quickly lowered her gaze.

"What's your hardest subject?" Harry asked instead of answering her.

"Potions, of course," Hermione snapped with a huff. "You already know that!"

Harry chuckled. "And did you skim any of your reading there?"

"Of course not!"

"Have you done only half your 'supplemental reading' for that class?"

Hermione felt her eyes widened ridiculously. "I wouldn't dare," she breathed.

"See."

Now Hermione really frowned. "See what?" she demanded, her fists going to her hips.

"I'll bet anything you 'skimmed' what you already knew well. What you didn't know well, you read a lot about." Harry paused, eyeing her. "Am I right?"

"Yes," she replied reluctantly.

"See; you know what you need to work on and what you don't."

She should have realized, he wouldn't understand, she thought with anther small frown.

"I know you need to study," Harry continued, almost as if he'd read her thoughts. "All I'm saying is; you're not behind anymore. You may not get the highest scores ever recorded because of all this," he said, smirking now, "but if you continue to study -- minus all the panic -- I'd lay half my Gringotts vault on the line that you'll get all Os."

She blinked in shock. "How can you be so bloody sure?" she demanded.

Harry chuckled this time, shaking his head again. "How much of the year's assigned texts had you read before you even set foot on the Hogwarts Express?" he asked.

"About half," she admitted sheepishly, blushing a bit. She had done that every year, diving into her new books nearly the instant she got them.

Harry's eyebrow shot up. "Only half?" he asked skeptically.

"Alright, alright," she admitted impatiently, "closer to two-thirds."

"_That's_ why I can 'be so sure'," he replied quietly, finally sitting back down.

Hermione laughed, then, sinking back into her own chair. She supposed he was right, at least about the failing part. She still needed to get a _lot_ of studying done, though, just to make sure she didn't forget something vital. After all, you never really know what might be important.

"You still got that study packet you made up for the OWLS?" he asked suddenly.

"Yes, why?"

"Do you have it here, right now?"

"Of course," she replied.

"Give it over," Harry said, then, holding out his hand rather imperiously.

"Why?" she asked suspiciously. If he thought he was going to take it away from her, he had another think coming!

Harry rolled his eyes at her. "Just do it," he said, then smirked. "Or don't you trust me?"

"That's not the point, Harry!"

"Isn't it?" he asked, leaving his hand right where it was, his gaze challenging.

"Oh, fine!" she huffed, digging into her book bag and pulling it out. She couldn't quite stop the cringe as she handed it over, though. What if he didn't give it back? He'd just said that he thought she knew all she needed to. If he--

"What?" she asked, cutting off her own mental rant as she suddenly realized he'd spoken.

"What incantation would you use to turn a pincushion into a hedgehog? What are the wand movements, and what good is learning how to do it?"

Hermione blinked. That was second year stuff. Not really understand why Harry was asking, she answered the questions.

Ten minutes later, Harry held up his hand, stopping her flow of words, immediately throwing out a second set of questions; first year stuff, this time.

Huffing impatiently, Hermione answered.

By the time Harry was asking his 15th set of questions, a couple of which had been on fifth year material, Hermione figured out what he was doing and was now grinning. It was almost like getting tested -- without all the pressure of grades.

He suddenly tossed her OWLS study guide down onto the library table and threw out a question on this year's DADA. She had to think about that one, but she'd managed to answer it to his satisfaction -- and mostly to hers as well. She did make a mental note, however, to look it up, since she was sure she'd left out of couple of important points. He moved on to other subjects; though, he admitted that he didn't know the answers to some of the questions he asked, saying it was more important that she was sure she had it down.

At a couple of the questions, she was almost positive he'd asked because _he_ needed to know. She'd almost laughed, but answered anyway. She was going to draw the line if he asked a question from homework they had yet to turn in. He hadn't done that yet, though.

"Lunch time, I think," Harry said after she wound down, standing.

"What? It's not nearly late enough for lunch."

Harry laughed loudly, wincing at the glare Madam Pince directed at him. "Hermione, I've been quizzing you for two and half hours now."

"No way!" she breathed, astonished. It hadn't felt nearly that long.

"Yep," he replied, clearly amused. "In fact, if we don't leave now, we may _miss_ lunch."

"And that would be a disaster of apocolyptic proportions," she said sarcastically.

He grinned. "I knew you'd understand."

Hermione laughed, rolling her eyes, but did start clearing their work off the table. Before she could even _think_ about picking up her bag, however, Harry had it hung on his shoulder and was headed out the door. As she followed him out, she was very surprised to feel far more confident about the upcoming NEWTS.

By the time she, herself, passed through the door, she was grinning brightly. It felt really good to have the friends she had. It _also_ made her happy that Harry was, apparently, coming back into his own. She'd been very . . . preoccupied lately and hadn't been keeping as close an eye on Harry as she should, but he seemed to be recovering from everything. She was glad.

x-x-x

Draco glanced worriedly at the entrance to the great hall for what seemed the hundredth time in the last half hour. Hermione wasn't here yet and that worried him. As if he didn't have enough to worry about already, what with his mother installed in the mental ward at St. Mungos -- for 'an indeterminate amount of time'. The healers had given him the impression they didn't think she would ever recover. When he'd questioned them on that point, he'd felt like he was getting stonewalled. In fact, it seemed to him, they didn't care overly much whether his mother recovered or not -- which worried him. If he had anything to say about it, she would be removed into private care as soon as he had access to his inheritance. Unfortunately, that was still in probate. _How_ it could still be in probate, since he was the only possible heir -- with the exception of his mother -- was something that didn't feel right, and he was fairly certain it had more to do with his father's status as a deatheater than it did any confusion over the proper execution of the Malfoy wills, both personal and estate.

He growled under his breath as he made yet another furtive glare at the doors. Quite frankly, if Harry didn't have her here in the next ten minutes, he was going looking. If he had to do that, _Harry_ would not be happy; Draco would see to that. Granger was _not_ supposed to be missing meals. If that prat hadn't stood up to her--

His jaw dropped as Potter and Hermione passed through the doorway. Hermione was _grinning_, something she hadn't done much of since she'd begun panicking about the NEWTS. In fact, the last time he could recall her looking anything except absolutely panicked was two weeks ago, almost a week to the day after she'd been released from the infirmary. _Good,_ he thought. _At least something is going right._ Now, he could concentrate on--

Draco was jerked out of his thoughts by an owl winging through one of the owl windows. All conversation stopped for several moments as everyone's attention turned to the unexpected owl.

_Mail doesn't come this time of day!_ he protested silently, frowning. _Bad news for someone,_ he concluded warily, hoping it wasn't him.

The owl dropped its letter in front of the headmaster, and Draco sighed in relief. _Nothing about my mother, then._ He kept only a small part of his attention on the headmaster after that, noticing that everyone else was just as interested, however. Conversation did not resume at its normal level; though, he could hear several people whispering.

The headmaster frowned and leaned toward the headmistress, whispering something Draco couldn't hear. His frown deepened. _Definitely not good news._ He watched as the headmaster rose swiftly the moment McGonagall nodded sharply, striding out of the great hall through the staff door.

He had just managed to finish his lunch, his thoughts swirling, when Professor McGonagall stopped beside him. His heart leapt into his throat as he turned to face her, only just keeping his near panic off his face. _What was wrong now?!_ "Yes, Ma'am?" he asked.

"The headmaster would like to speak with you in his office," she said sternly, handing him a small piece of parchment.

"Yes, Professor," he replied with a nod, taking the note. Draco rose immediately; though, he managed not to rush. No sense letting anyone else know he was worried about what the headmaster wanted . . . especially after that letter. The moment he was out of the great hall, he opened the parchment.

_Butter Crunch_

_The password?_ he wondered, before his mind was swamped with ideas of what the headmaster could possibly want.

All the way to Dumbledore's office, his thoughts churned in confusing circles and it was all he could do to not break into a run. There was only one thing he could think of that would both concern him _and_ be sent to the headmaster first. Something had happened to his mother. Had she worsened? He blanched. Had she _escaped_?

"Stop it!" he muttered to himself, just as he reached the gargoyle entrance. Just because the note arrived right before the summons, didn't necessarily mean one had anything to do with the other. _Yeah right!_ he thought sarcastically. _In what bloody universe?_

"Butter Crunch," he said quietly, stepping onto the staircase the moment the Gargoyle opened enough to admit him.

TBC


	49. Chapter Forty Eight

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Chapter Forty Eight  
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April 30th -- continued

Hermione grimaced as her stomach cramped. It wasn't overly painful, just uncomfortable. Fortunately, it ended fairly quickly.

"You okay?" Lavender asked, her current shadow and study partner. Out of deference to Lavender's own need to study, they were currently concentrating on Lavender's weak points. Hermione needed to review that material anyway, so it killed to birds with one study session.

"I'm fine," she replied absently, her mind mostly on what question to ask Lavender next. She had to admit that her friend -- one she hadn't ever expected to really get along with -- had answered most of the questions she'd asked fully. Well, perhaps not as fully as Hermione would have, but then, as had been pointed out to her numerous times during her tenure at Hogwarts, that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. "It was just a twinge."

Lavender leaned forward suddenly, capturing Hermione's full attention.

"What?"

"A twinge?" she asked, sounding oddly . . . intense.

"Yes," Hermione replied drily. "A _twinge_. We all get them occasionally."

"Where?"

Hermione frowned, confused at the question. What did it matter? "You were right here when it happened Lavender."

Lavender rolled her eyes, lightly smacking Hermione's shoulder. "Not _that_ where, Ninny! I meant where in your body was the twinge?"

"Why?" she asked suspiciously.

A second eyeroll was what she got for her suspicions.

"Humor me."

Sighing, Hermione huffed. "Fine! It was in my side."

"Had many of them?"

"What is this; the Spanish Inquisition?"

"Just answer the bloody question."

"Language, Lavender!" Hermione chided, surprised. She had never heard the other Gryffindor swear before. Lavender was many things that Hermione didn't necessarily approve of, but she'd certainly never had a dirty mouth.

"Don't change the subject."

This time she shrugged, sighing in defeat of getting any more studying done. Obviously Lavender was finished for today. "A few."

"We're going to see Madam Pomfrey."

"Why?" Hermione exclaimed at the ridiculous suggestion.

"Because you're over eight months pregnant and getting 'twinges' in your 'side'."

Hermione blinked at the seeming random connection between the two, for all of two seconds. Then it hit her what had Lavender so concerned. "But it's too early!"

Lavender didn't respond to that, simply pulled her arm and started dragging her toward the door.

"You're being paranoid!"

"Maybe I am," Lavender agreed easily. "But take it from someone who grew up with a midwife for a mother; it's better to be paranoid than caught unprepared."

Hermione's eyes widened in shock, and she stopped fighting against going to the infirmary. She hadn't known that about Lavender. It made her wonder what else she didn't know.

x-x-x

"Braxton and Hicks contractions," Madam Pomfrey announced after studying the diagnostic display for several moments.

Hermione instantly relaxed. She'd read about those. Supposedly, she'd be feeling those from now until she really went into labor. "Thank you, Madam Pomfrey."

"No problem, Miss Granger," Pomfrey replied airily. "You were right to come to me when you did. It's difficult to tell sometimes. Not everyone has the exact same experiences when going into labor. Some labors are quite intense, others register as no more than minor, but persistant, lower back pain."

"But it's too early."

Both Madam Pomfrey and Lavender snorted, but it was the mediwitch that spoke. "Yes, because baby's _always_ come just when we say they're supposed to."

"But--" Hermione began, ignoring the blatant sarcasm in the mediwitch's voice.

"Hermione. I have three brothers; one was two weeks early, one was three, and one was almost a week late. I--"

"I get the point!" Hermione interrupted.

Lavender was looking quite smug, her eyes so very clearly saying, 'I told you so'. Before Hermione could react to that, however, Madam Pomfrey continued.

"There is something I'd like to speak with you about, though," she said quietly. "The baby is currently inverted."

"Breech?" Lavneder exclaimed.

Pomfrey shook her head. "No, Miss Brown, not breech. The baby is head down already, just as he should be."

Hermione and Lavender shared a confused look. "What's 'inverted' then?"

Madam Pomfrey quickly explained that the best birthing position was head first with the baby facing the mother's back. The baby inside her was currently facing front. If the baby didn't 'roll over', it could potentially -- and here, Hermione shuddered -- add as much as 24 hours to her labor, as well as heighten the actual pain. Apparently she needed to 'get on her hands and knees and rock forward and back a couple times a day'. She just knew she was going to feel absolutely ridiculous doing so.

"I'll want you back here in five days to check his position, and every day after that until he shifts to the proper position."

"It won't do that naturally?" Hermione asked, skeptically, not really looking forward to acting like an idiot. Just one more thing to resent the-- She immediately cut off that line of thought.

"Probably," Madam Pomfrey admitted, "but it's not guaranteed. I should think," she continued, "you would wish to encourage it, however."

Hermione nodded emphatically. She most certainly did. She had absolutely no desire to be in labor for 24 hours in the first place, let alone even _think_ about _adding_ that much time to the process.

"The tear seems to be holding just fine for now; however, I'd like you to start getting used to the idea that you're probably going to be confined to bed for the last two weeks."

"What?!"

Madam Pomfrey ignored her outburst. "The stress on it, then, will be at it's worst. Staying in bed will give you the best chance of carrying completely to term. For now, I'm going to continue monitoring you for about an hour, just to be on the safe side."

Hermione thought about fighting that decision, but ultimately decided against it. In all six plus years she'd spent at Hogwarts she'd only ever won one debate with the mediwitch, and since that one had been this month, she wasn't going to push her luck.

"Lavender," she said, facing the other girl, "could you get our stuff from the library?"

"Sure," she replied, nodding. "I'll be back shortly."

x-x-x

Walking up the front steps to Gringotts, Draco's head was spinning from everything that had happened in the last few hours. From the meeting in the headmaster's office -- that was both worse and far less than what he'd feared -- to the quick portkey ride to Diagon Alley, to the swift walk to the bank itself, Draco hadn't had a moment in which to truly process what was happening. He'd actually sat through most of that meeting in a sort of numb kind of shock. It hadn't seemed entirely real. It seemed Dumbledore's 'contact' hadn't just sent him a tip, they'd also sent him the key to the Malfoy family vault, the one that Lucius Malfoy usually carried. How that 'contact' had got a hold of it, he had less than no clue. It did, however, make him very curious as to who, exactly, this 'contact' was. Who did he owe? Apparently, even his godfather was helping somehow; though, the headmaster hadn't said _how_ precisely.

"Have a seat, Mr. Malfoy," the headmaster said, taking his own seat behind his desk.

Draco did so, worrying about the serious expression the headmaster wore. The man almost _never_ looked serious. The only times Draco had ever seen the old wizard that way had been in life and death situations, and that did absolutely nothing for his peace of mind.

"Is something wrong with my mother?" Draco asked, barely keeping his growing panic out of his voice.

"No, Mr. Malfoy, in--"

"Have I done something wrong then?"

"No," the headmaster replied sharply, "you haven't."

Draco clamped his jaw around the rest of his questions, belatedly realizing his questions were merely delaying his getting the information he wanted.

"I apologize in advance for being blunt, Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore said, holding up a suspiciously familiar looking piece of parchment; the one he'd just received the great hall, perhaps? "But time is of the essence. I've received a tip, from a contact in the Ministry that _all_ the Malfoy assests are in the process of being frozen."

Draco gaped. "But they can't touch my personal vault," Draco protested, then frowned uncertainly. "Can they? I haven't even been accused of any crime, let alone convicted!"

"Never-the-less, do you wish to take your chances with that?" the headmaster asked pointedly, picking up the oddest looking . . . knick-knack Draco had ever seen.

He shook his head immediately. "No, Sir!" he exclaimed.

"Precisely as I thought," the headmaster replied with a sharp nod, swiftly rounding his desk to stand beside Draco.

At that moment, Professor Snape strode through the door and immediately directed a questioning gaze to the headmaster, apparently ignoring _him_ completely.

"You're ready?" Professor Dumbledore asked shortly.

Snape nodded and strode right back out of the room, all without saying a word to either of them.

The door wasn't even closed behind the potions master before the headmaster turned back toward him. "Stand and grab hold."

"Sir?" Draco asked, confused, even as he did as ordered.

The headmaster didn't answer. He didn't have to. Draco felt the tell-tale hook behind his navel that indicated a port key. _Where the bloody hell are we going?_ he wondered in something of a panic. Nothing had been explained yet! _How are we supposed to stop the Ministry from getting their hands on my money?_ He stumbled as the port key deposited them in what was obviously Diagon Alley.

"Come quickly, now," Dumbledore urged, moving the moment he was able.

Draco scrambled to catch up. "Where are we going, Professor?" he asked the moment he did.

_Now_ the headmaster's eyes started to dance merrily.

Draco blinked in surprise, not quite sure whether to be relieved . . . or frightened.

"We, Mr. Malfoy," the headmaster whispered conspiratorially, "are going to thwart the Ministry."

_Okay,_ Draco thought in alarm, _Dumbledore has officially lost it!_

"I assure you I am quite sane, Mr. Malfoy," the headmaster said, chuckling, and handing him a length of leather; dragonhide leather, if he was any judge.

Draco's eyes widened, even as he accepted the bag without thought to what it might be. _I didn't say that out loud, did I?_

"That, Mr. Malfoy, is a holding bag."

Draco gasped, his attention suddenly diverted to the leather bag he was holding -- no puns intended. It was ridiculously rare, and its value reflected that very well. It was something even the richest of purebloods thought twice before purchasing. It was rarer even than an invisibility cloak. A holding bag wasn't just temporarily charmed to be larger on the inside than the outside; it really was larger on the inside. What made it so much more expensive than other types of containers like it was the material it was made from -- that and the many other charms that were typically part and parcel of a holding bag. Dragonhide was notoriously difficult to get charms to stick to, especially permanently, just like the dragons it came from.

This time of day there weren't many patrons in the bank, so it didn't take long before they were flying down to the vault levels. They had just started moving when Dumbledore leaned close and whispered. "If you'll allow me to assist you?" he asked, removing another holding bag from within his robes.

Draco nodded sharply. _He has __**two**__?!_

"Excellent!"

Both of them moved quickly, the moment the cart stopped. They had no way of knowing just how long they would have. Due to treaty agreement the Ministry had with the Goblins, the moment the Ministry finished and signed all the magical paperwork to freeze the assets, they would not be able to remove anything further. It would quite literally _freeze_ the assets in place. They couldn't even set the bags down. The moment they did, they became included in the vault's contents. Since they were unsure whether or not the Ministry would be able to freeze his personal vault -- and it had far less in it than the main vault anyway -- they were going to loot his parents' vault.

He'd only been inside this vault a couple of times, when he'd been with his father, but he knew the basic layout. He was going to head immediately toward the gems and jewelry stored there. Each of those items were easier to pick up than galleons and were worth more weight for weight. Heart pounding, he was through the door the moment it was open. He stopped only long enough to prick his palm at the appropriate spot on the inside entrance wall, in order to verify to the security measures that he did, indeed, belong there. As a Malfoy, it was magically his right, even if technically it wasn't, since it wasn't his vault yet. The Goblins only cared about the key, and the magic didn't care either; it just cared about his blood.

x-x-x

Hermione sighed heavily. Since she'd been released from the hospital wing . . . again, she'd been quite restless. She couldn't even study, since she couldn't manage to sit still and concentrate long enough to read more than a paragraph or two at a time. She'd already cleaned the entire dorm room -- well, rearranged things more like, since the house elves kept it pretty clean to start with. She'd completely rearranged her trunk and her small dresser, as well as the closet holding her hangables.

The second time she'd had to get up, she'd gone down to the common room and began straightening (rearranging) things there. Now, she was trying to study again, only it still wasn't working. Growling, she slammed her book shut and all but raced out of the dorm room and down to the commons. Not that her current 'racing' was anything spectacular, She felt like a bloody penquin! Moved like one too!

She just wanted this over with! Part of her wished that Lavender had been right to worry. A large part of her wished she was already in labor so it would just be done with. She'd always got things done with ahead of time. Why should this be any different? She felt immediately guilty over the thought.

_Okay, time to distract myself,_ she thought firmly. _I can't concentrate on studying. There's nothing really to clean. What the bloody hell am I supposed to do with myself?_

Frowning, Hermione waddled out of the common room, letting her feet take her where they would. Before she knew it, she found herself at the top of the stairs leading to the dungeons. She stopped, biting her lip in indecision. In the past several months she had spent more time down in Slytherin territory than any other single place in the school . . . and that _included_ the library. This time, though, something made her stop. Something inside, wouldn't let her just breeze down as if she owned the place.

She couldn't brew anything right now, not in the last stages of pregnancy. She was finished compiling the data from Ron and Draco's report. The adoption of the paras-- the child was all set. There was no pretext which she could use; no reason to step foot down there. There was no back up plan should she need one. She huffed, angry at herself. She was _still_ letting _him_ get to her. She'd never needed 'back up plans' before. And she didn't need one now! She was over this, and by God she was going to prove it!

"Mione!"

Startled, she gasped and spun around. "Ron!" she exclaimed, relief coming quickly on the heels of the split second terror that still sometimes assailed her.

"You're not supposed to be out on your own," Ron said abruptly, crossing his arms over his chest.

Hermione rolled her eyes at him, even as she fought a strong wave of irritation. "I'm not carrying anything, Ron. I'm just taking a nice slow walk, to clear my head, you know?"

"Draco and Snape aren't down there, anyway."

"What?" she asked, confused by the sudden shift in topic. _What does __**that**__ have to do with anything?_

Ron grinned. "Why else would you be at the top of the dungeon stairs?"

Laughing, her irritation vanishing as quickly as it had come, Hermione shook her head. Trust Ron to know where Draco was, but why did he know about Snape? It was a Saturday, and it wasn't dinner time yet. "Where are they?" she asked instead of what she really wanted to.

"Draco is with Professor Dumbledore, in his office, I think."

"And Professor Snape?"

Ron shrugged. "He lit out of the front entrance with an expression as grim as the time Harry and I crashed my dad's car into the whomping willow."

Hermione blinked. That was pretty angry.

Shaking his head, Ron chuckled. "He was muttering something about moronic ministry dunderheads, looking fit to be tied."

What had the ministry done now? She didn't have a clue, but whatever it was, it certainly couldn't be good.

"Why is Draco closeted with the headmaster?"

"Don't know," Ron replied shrugging again. "But I think it has something to do with that owl the headmaster got at lunch."

"The ministry owl?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

" 'Cuz, Professor McGonagall came to him directly after with a note to see the headmaster."

"That doesn't sound good."

"No; it doesn't."

"Oh, God, Ron! Do you think something happened to his mother?"

Ron's eyes widened. "Bloody hell, I hope not!" he exclaimed. "I don't think Draco can take much more going wrong."

"That makes two of us," Hermione replied uneasily, guiltily wondering whether whatever it was would affect whether or not Draco would still want to adopt the para-- baby. "So where's Harry?"

Ron laughed. "Doing homework."

Hermione's eyes widened in surprise. Usually it took some severe prodding to get either of her friends to buckle down. "I didn't see him in the common room when I left."

"He's in the library."

"The library, wow. I wasn't sure he still remembered where it was."

"Yeah, well, since 'the ritual' he's spending a lot more time there."

"And you?"

"Well," he began, shifting uncomfortably as they walked, "I think I'm pretty much avoiding the place." Before Hermione could comment, he hurriedly continued. "More than usual, I mean."

"How come I didn't notice?" Hermione asked, concerned she had been neglecting her friends something awful.

"It's okay, Mione. You've had a lot on your mind lately."

_When did __**Ron**__ get understanding?_ Hermione wondered silently. But, the thing was, it _wasn't_ alright. She should have noticed.

"What about _your_ homework?" she asked suddenly, her eyes narrowing.

"I'll do mine tomorrow, Mione."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "More like tomorrow night, you mean."

Ron simply shrugged, but didn't deny it.

"Figured," she retorted drily. "But what I meant was, how are you getting it done if you're now _really_ avoiding the library."

"Draco."

"Draco's doing your homework!?" she exclaimed angrily, spinning around to face him, her fists on her hips.

"No!" he denied hotly, hands up in 'surrender'.

Hermione frowned, eyeing her friend warily. "What did you mean then?"

"He's been getting the books I need."

"Oh," she replied sheepishly, hands dropping down to her sides. Now, she felt ridiculous, getting her dander up like that over nothing.

"So, are we going to go bug Harry?" Ron asked, grinning. "He's been at it for a couple hours now. I'm sure he's just looking for an excuse to say he's done for the night."

Now it was Hermione's turn to laugh. "Sure," she replied. "Why not?"

TBC


	50. Chapter Forty Nine

**AN:** I still can't believe I put a dead character into a scene last chapter! ::shakes head:: I don't know how many times I've gone over those two scenes for errors and missed something so glaring, especially since later in the very same chapter I obliquely refered to Ginny's death. ::rolls eyes:: Sorry about that, everyone.  
**Unicorn Lady:** Yes, in the chapter before last, Harry and Hermione did go to the great hall for lunch. They arrived there before the ministry owl arrived and before Draco left for his appointment with the headmaster. Draco was surprised to see Hermione smiling. : ) Ron and Hermione going to the library to bug Harry in the last chapter is much later in the day.

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Chapter Forty Nine  
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Draco heaved a sigh of relief as they reappeared in the headmaster's office. The last time he'd worked as hard as he had today, it had been for quidditch. Unfortunately, magic was unusable inside Gringotts' vaults -- a security measure -- so, they'd had to pack everything by hand. Not that they'd managed to actually _get_ everything. That would have taken days. They'd had four hours before everything left froze. While that was more time than Draco had expected, what he had now was a mere drop in the ocean compared to the Malfoy fortune. He felt . . . cheated.

"Well," Professor Dumbledore said as he sat behind his desk, "that was invigorating."

Draco snorted a short laugh. "Exhausting, don't you mean, Sir?"

Dumbledore smiled, his eyes -- as always -- dancing. "That too, my boy, that too."

"What now, Sir?" he asked. "I mean--"

"Albus!"

Draco jumped at the sound of Professor Snape's shout, or maybe bellow would be the better word, but as far as he could see, the headmaster wasn't at all startled. He did rise quickly, however, meeting the professor at the door.

"What is it, Severus?"

"You need to hide what you took from Gringotts immediately."

"What? Why?" Draco yelped, jumping to his feet.

"What's happened?"

"When I intercepted the minister's aide, I caught sight of the paperwork he was taking to the minister to sign."

Draco gasped. _What now?_

"He's ordering _everything_ taken, even the assets Mr. Malfoy has here at school."

"What?!" Draco protested. "They can't do that! I've done nothing wrong!"

"Well, they're _doing_ it!" Snape snapped.

Draco cringed. That tone was usually reserved for Gryffindors.

"Alright," the headmaster said calmly. "Take this, and take Draco down to the dungeons. Use my floo. The two of you need to figure out how to hide it well enough that _both_ of you can answer truthfully that Draco has no funds here. That you can say he has no funds anywhere would be safest. And make sure he stays away from the main corridors until after it's done."

"How--"

Draco wasn't allowed to finish the question. Professor Snape grabbed Dumbledore's bag of holding and his arm and dragged him toward the floo. Draco barely managed to grab the one he'd brought back, before being hauled inside. Seconds later, he was dusting himself off in his godfather's quarters. Despite the circumstances, he couldn't help but take a look around. He'd never been here before. In fact, he doubted any student had _ever_ been here.

"Sit."

Letting the bag he was carrying drop to the floor, Draco did as he was told. Truth be told, he was a little numb. Okay, maybe a _lot_ numb. He couldn't believe this was happening to him. His mind was blank of ideas. How was he going to survive this?

"The only thing I can think to have you do, is to give the money to me. When this all passes over, I can then give it back."

"But won't they ask you if, as my godfather, you're holding funds for me? It seemed like the headmaster was indicating they might use veritiserum."

"Most likely they will, Draco, to both. The point is, I didn't suggest I 'hold' it for you. I suggested you 'give' it to me. I would, when the danger has passed, 'give' it back."

Draco smirked. "A fine distinction," he said.

His godfather nodded, arching an eyebrow at him.

Draco chuckled, then gasped. "I've got a better idea!"

"Better?" his godfather asked archly.

"Okay, maybe not better persay, safer."

"Well, then, let's hear this _safer_ plan."

_Sarcasm at its finest,_ Draco thought with a purely mental cringe. "I give you part of what's in that bag you have, and I give the rest. . . ."

"To _whom_?"

Draco took a deep breath before continuing. "To Ron." He didn't have to wait long for his godfather's reaction.

"Are you out of your bloody mind!?" he snarled, fairly leaping to his feet.

Draco fought the impulse to cringe back into the cushions of the chair he was sitting in, preferably _under_ said cushions. "No, Sir," he replied quietly.

"No, Sir? What do you mean, 'No, Sir'? Yes, you are!"

That was it! "No, Sir, I'm not!" he snapped back. He took another deep breath and quickly continued before his godfather could continue his rant. "You said yourself, Sir, they may ask you that, under veritaserum."

"I explained--"

"And if it doesn't work, Sir? What if they ask in such a way that you have to admit you plan on giving it back?"

"I understand what you're going for here, Draco, and while I may approve the tactic; _Weasley?_"

"Uncle," Draco began, pulling out the familial factor to bolster his argument, "he has my heart already, and I trust him with it. If I trust him with that, why should I not trust him with my money as well?"

The older wizard threw his hands up in visible defeat. "Fine! We'll do that, with one alteration."

"And that is?" Draco asked warily.

"Keep about 200 galleons and a couple of trinkets, to be able to give to the ministry as your 'remaining assets'. They're not going to buy the fact that the Malfoy heir has absolutely _nothing_ on hand."

"Good point."

As his godfather summoned a house elf, Draco hurried to divvy up the bag the headmaster had handed over, keeping an ear on what was being said.

"How may Tiffy help Master of potions?"

"Find Mr. Weasley, then come back and tell us where he is."

"Tiffy be doing that now, Master of potions."

"Bloody hell," Draco swore quietly, fumbling with the changing sizes of the coins and other valuables he was pulling from the one bag to transfer to the one he was giving Ron. It hadn't been so bad getting it in the first time. Pick it up. Drop it in. It shrinks. This time though, he was digging out already shrunk items, which were enlarging the moment they cleared the bag. He felt like he was dropping as many as he managed to transfer!

When Professor Snape stepped up beside him, he automatically glanced up. The look on the wizard's face, however, pulled his full attention away from what he was doing.

"Are those what I _think_ they are, Draco?"

"Draco barely stifled his almost instantaneous smirk, remembering his own reaction all too well. "If you think they're holding bags, then, yes Sir, they are."

"Your father had _two_ of them stashed away?"

Draco didn't know whether the emotion so carefully almost hidden behind the sneer was envy or awe, but he could certainly understand either one. "No," he replied, shaking his head as he continued to struggle with the merlin blighted contents. "These both belong to the headmaster."

An eyebrow arching upwards was the other wizard's only response. Before he could interpret it, however, the house elf returned.

"Well," Professor Snape demanded, spinning around to face the tiny creature, "where is he?"

"Mr. Weasley is being in the library, Master of potions."

"Damn! Too close to the front entrance."

"Mr. Malfoy, Do you know where the room of requirement is located?"

"Yes, Sir," Draco replied, not bothering to stop his actions.

"Tibby, Please tell Mr. Weasley his presence is required in the room of requirement immediately."

"Yes, Master of potions." And with that the house elf was gone.

"Are you done yet?" the professor demanded gruffly.

That startled a laugh out of Draco, much as he tried to stop it. "Sorry, Sir. It took the headmaster four hours to fill it. I'm not going to make much of dent in just a few minutes."

Professor Snape's eyes widened a bit at that; though, the reaction was swiftly hidden. "I see," was all he said in response. "Well, it will have to do. We are undoubtedly out of time. I'm sure the Ministry officials weren't far behind me, and when you aren't found in the Slytherin common room, nor the dorms, this is most likely one of the first places they will look for you."

"Yes, Sir." Rising, he grabbed the bag he intended to give to Weasley and started for the door.

"Make sure to stay out of the path from here to the Slytherin dorms! And for Merlin's sake, if you see them, _hide_."

Draco nearly rolled his eyes, but managed to restrain the impulse. When he reached the door, however, he paused and turned to face his godfather. A half smile playing across his face, he nodded once. "Thank you, Sir."

He was out the door before the other wizard could respond, gruffly or not.

x-x-x

_Coward,_ Severus thought fondly as his godson disappeared through the door before he could react to the entirely unnecessary thanks. Getting one over on the ministry was thanks enough for him. That he was helping his godson in the process, only made it all the more sweet. He truly didn't think the Malfoy heir would survive being penniless very well. He may no longer be one of the richest wizards living, but if the two of them had, had four hours to attempt to fill those two bags, then he was by no means, a pauper.

Shutting off that train of thought, Severus spun around and grabbed the bag, and moments after calling another house elf he had five chests (temporarily charmed larger) in which to dump the contents of the bags. He was closing the last one, when a knock at his door interrupted him.

"Damn!" A couple waves of his wand and the chests were through his bedroom door and arranged against the wall as if they'd always been there. He paused a heartbeat and conjured a light layer of dust to sit atop them. Nodding firmly, he strode back out into his sitting room and answered the door just as the second knocking sounded. He abruptly jerked open the door.

"Yes?" he snarled, inwardly delighting in the fact that both of the ministry officials jumped at least an inch off the floor. One of them even 'eeped'.

x-x-x

Ron Weasley grumbled to himself as he strode angrily up to the seventh floor corridor where the entrance to the ROR could be found. Since the door wasn't there, he immediately began pacing back and forth. _Snape wanted me here. I'm here. Open up and let me in,_ were his resentful thoughts. To his surprise, it worked . . . or seemed to. The door certainly appeared on his last pass. Warily opening it, he snuck his head around it, peering carefully to see what was inside this time. To his surprise, it looked like his living room at home.

"What the bloody hell?"

"Now, now Weasley; I could take points for that."

Ron jumped, a disturbingly unmanly squeak escaping, before he realized who was behind him. "That's not funny, Draco!"

Draco shrugged, slipping past him and into the ROR. "I thought it was." Seconds later he burst out laughing. "What were you thinking that you conjured your home?"

A little embarrassed, Ron shrugged and mumbled a reply.

Draco stared blankly at him for a moment before he shook his head. "What?"

Ron sighed and spoke, repeating what he'd thought as he'd paced.

Draco again burst out laughing. "Interesting result."

x-x-x

"What do you think Snape wanted?" Harry asked.

"Professor Snape, Harry."

Harry rolled his eyes, and stared at her pointedly, obviously wanting an answer to his question.

Hermione sighed. "I don't know," she replied thoughtfully. "It might have something to do with why he and Draco disappeared earlier, though."

"They disappeared?"

Hermione nodded. "Ron said that Draco was up with the headmaster in his office, and Professor Snape stormed out the front entrance like he was on a blood hunt or something."

Harry blinked, then frowned. "What _else_ has gone wrong?"

"I don't know, Harry, but coming on top of that, I really don't like this."

"Well," Harry said, slowly rising, his gaze never once breaking from hers. "The message didn't say Ron had to go alone. . . ."

Hermione grinned and was on her feet as quickly as her pregnancy would allow. "Let's go."

x-x-x

Ron gaped at him, and Draco had to admit it wasn't exactly an attractive look for the Gryffindor. Draco reached out with a finger and closed his mouth.

"Why?" Ron yelped.

"Ron?"

Draco jumped up at the new voice, startled. He was, however, gratified to note that Ron had as well.

"Potter," he greeted, nodding. "Hermione."

Hermione had her hands on her hips, and an angry glare directed at him. "How did you get a house elf to say Professor Snape wanted Ron here?" she demanded.

Draco rolled his eyes at her, wondering just when it was she had started treating him like one of her Gryffindor pals. He suspected it was shortly after their private meeting regarding his godfather. What truly perplexed him, looking back, was why he hadn't noticed until just now. Shaking himself free of the odd thoughts, he held his hands up in mock surrender. "I didn't."

Hermione eyes narrowed and she huffed impatiently.

Draco grinned. "No, really, I didn't. Professor Snape called him here. Everyone sit and I'll explain what's up."

The two Gryffindors moved forward, then froze. It was Potter that asked what _had_ to be on both their minds. "Why does it look like the Burrow?"

"My fault," Ron said, shrugging. "Don't know why, though. I didn't do it on purpose."

x-x-x

Severus growled as the door closed behind the headmaster and the ministry buffoons. Draco had been right. They had asked specifically about having money from Draco that he planned to give back, not just was he 'holding' any Malfoy funds. He'd managed to keep the funds; though, he'd had to swear an oath that he wouldn't give even a single knut of it back. He grinned maliciously. The oath didn't keep him from purchasing things for his godson, however. Maybe he'd purchase him a house or two, or perhaps he'd offer the two men scholarships for completing whatever post-Hogwarts education they wished to pursue. He frowned. With that second one, though, he would have to pay the money to whatever institution they attended or person they apprenticed to; otherwise the oath might kick in. He certainly had no wish to see that happen.

They'd called it 'fraud'. _As if stealing a child's money isn't far worse!_ he thought vindictively. They'd said if he didn't take the oath, they would take _him_ into custody for trying to thwart ministry justice. _Justice my arse!_ The senior official had grinned maliciously at that, staring at him, as if daring him to go that route. He stopped pacing, just then realizing he _had_ been. Growling, this time at himself, Severus switched directions and strode to and out his door, letting it slam shut behind him. He had to make sure Draco had accomplished his part of the plan. He really hoped so. Of course, he didn't hold out hope for that. This was _Weasley_ they were dealing with. It had probably taken this long just to get the idiotic Gryffindor to calm down enough to realize he wasn't being insulted.

Severus rolled his eyes at the thought, still hurrying toward the ROR. If he had to ram the money down Weasley's throat, the brat _would_ take it!

The moment he reached the appropriate stretch of hallway, he ceased his other, rather circular thoughts and concentrated on his need to speak to Draco. As he stepped through the door, he was surprised to find himself in a replica of the Burrow's living room. He'd only been there once, but it was unmistakable. He smirked as the three occupants of the room jumped at his sudden appearance. He frowned, immediately noticing Mr. Weasley's absence.

"Where's Mr. Weasley?" he demanded, striding forward. If that twit flaked, all was lost!

"Taking his bag back to Gryffindor Tower, Sir."

Relief flooded through Severus, but he allowed none of it to show. He merely nodded. "Good."

"How can they do that, Sir?" Miss Granger asked, her expression all but screaming indignation.

"If you will recall, Miss Granger, I did mention the possibility it would happen when we discussed the trust fund?" he sneered. To his consternation the impertinant chit merely rolled her eyes at him . . . _him!_

"To be precise, Sir," she replied, her voice obviously very carefully controlled, "we discussed the possibility that Malfoy _Sr's_ assests might be confiscated. How can they take Draco's? He hasn't done anything illegal." She frowned. "That they know of."

"Hey!"

Miss Granger smirked and shrugged at his godson, visibly not caring that she'd just insinuated he _had_ done something illegal.

"You forget, Hermione," Harry said, scowling, "this is the same ministry that sends people to Azkaban without trial."

"Good point."

Severus shook his head, never having thought to see these specific students in a setting such as this, at least without rancor and/or hexes being threatened -- not even after the year just past. It was too . . . congenial. Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself to say something he'd never thought he'd say to any student, not even his godson.

"You were right, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco frowned. "Right about what?" he asked, looking a tad confused.

Severus sneered at him, arching an eyebrow as if the answer should be apparent to the thickest of dunderheads.

"Oh! Damn!"

"Language, Mr. Malfoy," he chastised firmly, surprised when his own words overlapped Miss Granger's, "Watch your language, Draco."

Getting it from both sides, Draco actually shrank back down into sofa he was sitting on.

Severus snorted, then grew serious once again. "I was required to submit an oath that I would not give any of it back, or they would have taken it or me."

Draco growled, but nodded. "Better you than the ministry," he snapped angrily. "They've got enough of my money."

"You don't really think, I'd let a ministry _toady_ get the best of me, do you?" he drawled dangerously.

"What? I don't see how. . ."

Severus smirked. "I've just remembered that I failed to get you a birthday present this year; your 17th, a milestone in your life."

The corner of Draco's mouth twitched up and neither Potter nor Miss Granger were bothering to hide their smirks.

"I was very disappointed about that, Uncle," Draco replied, his expression morphing to the perfect picture of depressed misery.

The boy always _had_ been good at that look, Severus thought, almost laughing; though, he frowned over the honorific. They'd never been anything but perfectly formal around anyone but family. He let it pass, however -- _this_ time. "It has occurred to me, that with the Ministry seizing Malfoy assets, that you will need a place to live when you leave Hogwarts this summer."

Three sets of eyes widened. It was rather comical looking actually.

"As your gift this year, I am prepared to purchase you a home."

Miss Granger snorted. Potter continued to goggle at him. Draco, on the other hand, was now openly smirking. He'd caught on. _About time!_

"Thank you, Uncle."

Severus glared at the boy this time, eyes narrowing. Unfortunately, the boy looked anything but repentant. He'd have to have a _chat_ with him later, in private.

"You will undoubtedly need furnishings and such. I will also cover that."

"Thank you," Draco said again, this time, however, the response was a breathed out. Apparently, he'd been worrying about that. Not that Severus was surprised by that. The boy was used to virtually unlimited funds. Despite the fact that he was still quite well off, it probably seemed to him to be 'dire straits'. It would not surprise Severus that the boy had been picturing living in near destitute conditions.

His message delivered, Severus spun on one heel and strode toward the door. He paused after opening it and turned to direct a stern glare at Draco. "Nothing . . . extravagant. I see no reason you would have any need for more than five bedrooms."

The sudden sticken look that flashed across Miss Granger's face startled him and he immediately changed his plans of heading for a nice _quiet_ read in his chambers.

_Why?_

He ignored the thought, nearly smirking as a new idea struck him.

"Miss Granger," he barked, making her jump. "You and I have some business details to finish up. I expect to see you in my office in no more than 30 minutes."

"Yes, Sir," she replied, frowning, very obviously trying to figure out what the bloody hell he was talking about.

He stifled his growing urge to smirk and strode from the room. He'd just found another way to get Malfoy money back in Malfoy hands. He could, at the same time, give Miss Granger the opportunity to voice what was suddenly bothering her, killing the two proverbial birds with one very proverbial stone.


	51. Chapter Fifty

**AN: I always appreciate (read adore) anyone who reviews, but the reviews for the last chapter were particularly fun! I giggled over many of the predictions for what Severus' idea might possibly be. : )~ You'll find out this chapter. That part was already written before I posted last chapter, just to let you know that I wouldn't leave you all in _too_ much suspense over it. ::giggle:: Thanks to those who pointed out the remaining name who shouldn't be. It's been corrected.**

Yes, I do know (now) that Ginny is Ginevra, but that didn't come out on JKR's website until after I'd started this story. At the time, I decided to leave it. Thanks for the info, however. It's always appreciated. If you can point out where it actually is in the books, I'd appreciate that also, as I don't recall it ever being mentioned in canon -- one of the reasons I decided to leave it as is for this particular story, rather than trace down every single time I'd used Virginia. Thanks! : )

Toranoko: Your wish is my command. : )~ And thank you so much!

On to the story.

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Chapter Fifty  
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Hermione stood suddenly, walking towards the door.

"Hermione?" Draco asked, stalling her exit.

"What's wrong?" Harry added.

Hermione shook her head. "Not now," she replied, shaking her head adamantly. She just couldn't voice what epiphany had hit her as the professor and Draco spoke about a home. "I have to go speak with Professor Snape."

"He said you had half an hour, Mione," Harry replied quietly, coming up to her side.

To her bemusement, Draco mirrored him on the other, both of them laying a hand on a shoulder. Unfortunately, that comfort from the two of them was the last straw and she burst into tears.

"Don't mind me," she said quickly, swiping angrily at the tears. "Hormones," she choked out as she all but ran from the room. She desperately hoped they wouldn't follow her. She had no clue what she was going to tell them if they did, since she really couldn't tell them what was really wrong. What she _should_ have realized all along. What should have been bloody obvious from the moment Draco had proposed to Ron right in front of her -- over a sonogram picture of the unborn child no less.

She was going to have a lifelong contact with the child inside her, something she had studiously sought to avoid.

_Then why let a friend adopt it?_

"How the hell was I supposed to know that they'd get _that_ serious!?" she demanded of herself. "Neither one of them ever showed more interest in boys than girls," she continued, now ranting. Hell, Ron had never shown _any_ interest in boys before Draco. "It should have been a whirlwind, short-lived . . . fling."

Hermione stopped, closing her eyes as guilt assailed her at the unthinking words that had escaped her. How could she be _so_ selfish? They were obviously happy together. The look on both their faces when Draco had popped out with his surprising proposal -- surprising even to himself, if she had to judge by the look that had flashed over his face at the time -- was proof enough of that.

It took both forever and far too short a time to reach Professor Snape's office. She wanted away from her thoughts in the worst way, but dreaded what he wanted to talk about. Business? What 'business'? She thought they had everything settled already.

She knocked. _Best to get it over with . . . right?_

x-x-x

Severus stiffened as a knock sounded at his door. He knew who it was, of course; it was simply ingrained habit to resent interruptions to his limited free time. He shook it off quickly, however, having invited this particular interruption. It wasn't all that difficult, considering the interruption in question was going to help him get another one over on the ministry.

"Come in," he barked.

As she entered, however, his plans abruptly derailed. It was obvious she'd been crying. "What's wrong?" he demanded. Hadn't enough happened already? He did _not_ have enough time and energy to deal with anything else going wrong. On top of everything else, he still hadn't made any headway in trying to figure out how to retain Hermione's friendship after she graduated Hogwarts. Everything that had come to mind had seemed trite the moment he'd thought of it; trite and contrived.

She shook her head. "Nothing," she replied, carefully lowering herself into the only comfortable chair in the room, beyond the one behind his desk.

His frown deepened and his eyes narrowed as he glared at the girl's bloody obvious lie. She never _had_ learned to lie worth a damn. It still amazed him that given that fact, coupled with a Gryffindor's tendency to blurt out whatever insult happened into their minds that she had managed to survive after being taken by Lucius.

She huffed a laugh without humor. "Nothing important, anyway," she amended. "What was it you wanted to see me about? You said something about business."

He nodded sharply. "Yes," he replied. Allowing the subject change . . . for now, he rounded his desk and dropped into his own chair. If he had learned anything at all in the last seven years of teaching -- and this from Potter and Weasley, no less -- he'd learned that you could not push Hermione Granger. If he wanted to find out what was wrong, he would have to find a far more Slytherin way than demanding a truthful answer. "You have been . . . informed about what the Ministry is trying to do to Mr. Malfoy?" She almost hid the slightest of winces.

"Yes," she growled. "It's foul!"

"I'm so glad you agree," he purred, a sly smirk twisting his mouth.

Her eyes narrowed at him, knowing speculation dancing in them. "You're planning something," she accused, an amused smirk now gracing her own lips, "something . . . devious."

"Why, yes," he agreed, and knew his voice sounded just shy of actually malevolent, "I do believe I am."

Hermione laughed then, startling him. "Okay, what's it have to do with me?" she asked, getting straight to the point, per Gryffindor usual -- with the blatant exception of Albus Bloody Dumbledore. For once, he was grateful for that tendency; it allowed him to get to the point himself, without giving up his position of power.

He rose, quickly striding over to the bag Draco had given him. He had already pulled quite a bit out of it, more than enough to follow through on the . . . gifts he'd promised the boy for his 'birthday'. He picked it up and rather unceremoniously dropped it back on the floor, this time, right next to Hermione's chair.

Her jaw dropped open and turned the most gobsmacked look toward him that he'd ever seen on the girl's face. "What?" she breathed in shock.

"It's from the Malfoy vault, of course. If Mr. Malfoy can not have it, then the next best person is you."

"I _told_ you--"

"Think!" he snapped, growling at the girl -- for the first time in some months, he was surprised to realize. Just when had he stopped snapping at the least provocation? He'd never done that with anyone else he'd ever . . . cared about. He snorted mentally. That habit had lost him several friendships over the years. What made her different? Not able to provide the cunundrum the proper attention just then, he pushed it aside, returning his full focus to the conversation at hand.

Her eyes had widened once again, but the slack-jawed look didn't return -- thankfully. Instead, she grinned broadly. She shrugged. "Considering where it's from," she replied, her disdainful voice in direct opposition to that particular expression, "I'll put it directly into the-- baby's trust fund. I certainly don't want anything to do with it." Then, her eyes lit up even more and she eagerly leaned forward, reminding him -- rather disturbingly -- of her early behavior in his classes.

"Merlin save me from Gryffindors with _ideas_," he sneered -- and it almost seemed real.

"Oh, trust me," Granger purred, a sound he'd _never_ heard from this particular Gryffindor's mouth, "you'll like this idea."

"Oh really?" he drawled, eyes narrowing, hoping she was right, though doubting a Gryffindor -- even her -- could come up with an idea he would really like.

"Well, it just suddenly occurred to me," she began, her grin becoming obnoxiously wide, "that while I have adequately seen to the baby's adult financial future; I have not made sure its childhood is reasonably secure."

Severus frowned, not entirely certain he liked where this was headed. If Granger had been a Slytherin, he could be sure she wouldn't go overboard, but since she wasn't. . . .

"I would like to change the conditions of the trust fund," she said bluntly.

_Damn!_ It was just as he'd thought. She was going to--

"I was thinking of providing an . . . allowance--"

_Oh!_

"--for its--his future guardians, whoever they may be."

Severus was now smirking. There was hope for the Gryffindor species after all, he thought. "And just how much were you thinking this . . . allowance might be?" he asked neutrally.

She shrugged, seemingly careless. "How much do you think is in that bag?" she asked, instead of answering his question.

He rolled his eyes at her, but deigned to answer her question regardless of what he would normally do. He wanted to see where she was going with this, not get into another Slytherin vs Gryffindor mentality argument. "Considering it is a holding bag and contains gems and jewelry as well as coins, I should say at least a couple million in various assets."

"Well, then," Granger began, once again looking wide eyed and a tad gobsmacked. He seriously doubted the Gryffindor had ever seen that much money let alone had control of it before. "I think 2,000 galleons a month for his first ten years, then 5,000 galleons for the following nine shouldn't make an appreciable dent in his future fortune, and should certainly make things easier for his childhood and schooling."

Severus laughed then, truly laughed. "Why, I do believe you are correct, Miss Granger. It should, indeed, make sure your child is well secured in both child and adulthood."

And there it was again, that . . . lost look, robbing him of any feelings of vindication. _So, it has to do with the baby,"_ he thought, immediately deriding himself for the rather moronic thought. _Of course, it does, idiot! What else would it have to do with?_ "Okay," he said slowly, "I know you don't particularly trust me--"

"That's not true!" Hermione exclaimed, sounding outraged.

"_Don't!_ interrupt!" he snapped angrily. It was obvious the girl didn't trust him -- as much as that hurt. "But as you _should_ be aware by now, I'm am neither stupid, nor unobservant." Hermione bit her lip but didn't interrupt him again. "It's obvious that something about your baby is bothering you." He grimaced and shook his head at his wording. That had come out wrong. What the bloody hell was wrong with his Slytherin subtlety these days? "Something beyond the usual," he amended, carefully not rolling his eyes.

Hermione slumped, sighing. "It's just," she paused, shaking her head in clear disbelief. "I had something of an . . . epiphany, if you will."

"Epiphany?" he repeated, hoping to draw her out, without actually 'grilling' her into it.

She laughed, but the sound was distinctly lacking in humor. In fact, it sounded more like it was a choice between laughing and crying. That could _not_ be good. She raised her eyes to his, filled to the brim with unshed tears, and even as he watched, a single tear overflowed and slid down her cheek. "It should have been obvious from the beginning really. I have no clue why it didn't occur to me before now. And--" She cut off her own words, taking in a deep breath.

Severus was out of his depth here. He was absolutely no good at . . . comforting; something he had already admitted to himself long ago. Of course, it really didn't help that he had no clue what, exactly, was wrong. "You've been rather . . . distracted, lately," he offered, knowing it was a lame response the moment the shocked look fell over Hermione's face as she stared at him. It was a look that echoed the rather snide voice in the back of his head that asked, 'and since when has that been an acceptable excuse?' He frowned. "Just what was this _epiphany_?" he asked, instead of giving voice to the thought.

x-x-x

Draco and Harry strode out of the ROR, bickering quietly. Draco rolled his eyes several times on the trip down from the seventh floor. It wasn't like it was anything important; it was just . . . playful bickering over completely unimportant trivia. It wasn't until they reached the main hall that they were interrupted; though, he'd seen several others roll _their_ eyes as the two passed them.

"There he is!"

Draco stiffened, a disdainful sneer automatically forming as he turned to the adult voice he didn't recognize -- not that he didn't know who, or at least what, the person was; a ministry 'toady'. Beside him, Harry turned also, letting out an audible groan. There were three wizards standing with the headmaster, a headmaster that, for the first time in Draco's memory, was actively frowning. He was just grateful it wasn't directed at him.

"Great," Potter said drily, flicking Draco a sympathetic look.

Draco ignored it; he wanted to maintain his righteous anger. He didn't say anything, merely stared at the idiot that had 'identified' him, wondering just how far he could push.

"Come here, boy!"

His sneer deepened as he ignored the idiot's command, indignation flaring inside him. _How dare he?_

Potter, on the other hand, snorted. "He's a wanker, not a dog," the prat muttered under his breath and it was all Draco could do not snort in laughter, despite the situation, and his rather justified anger. _Damn it, Potter!_ he thought sourly. _I can't laugh right now. It would ruin the effect I'm going for here._

Neither of them moved.

The headmaster turned toward them, a smile now firmly set, a hint of amusement in his features. "Mr. Malfoy," he said quietly, suddenly looking like he was holding back on actual laughter -- the prat! -- "if you would be so kind as to join us?"

_Okay, life is so not fair! Two, count them, two people -- both bloody Gryffindors -- seem determined to make me laugh when I want to maintain haughty indifference!_ He moved, slowly closing the distance between them in a stately, arrogant saunter. He heard a choked sound from beside him that sounded suspiciously like stifled laughter. Bloody hell, but the Griff didn't have a clue about making body language speak for a person. _That_ was something Draco was going to have to educate the git on, especially if they were going to be hanging around each other.

He almost frowned at that thought. When had he decided that it was a likely possibility? _Oh, maybe about the same time you asked the git's best friend to marry you, perhaps?_

Even with his pace -- and his preoccupation -- it didn't take long to reach the headmaster and the Ministry goons. When he and Potter stopped, he all but ignored the three from the ministry. Facing the headmaster squarely, he nodded in regal greeting. "Headmaster," he said politely, "what can I do for you?"

The infernal, seemingly eternal dancing light in the headmaster's eyes upped several degrees as a smile twitched one corner of the old man's mouth upward. "Unfortunately, Mr. Malfoy," he began, his solemn tone the exact opposite to his expression.

Even having expected it, having known it would happen, fiery rage coursed through him as the older wizard 'explained' why the other three were there.

"What?!"

The shocked exclamation from beside him derailed his anger momentarily as surprise at the believability of the Gryffindor's outrage took its place. If he didn't know better, he'd have sworn that Potter hadn't known ahead of time, hadn't been there when Draco, himself, had explained what was going to happen to circumvent what the ministry was doing. He really hadn't thought Potter was that good an actor.

"Surely, you won't let them do that, Professor!" Potter pushed, staring at the headmaster.

Feeling oddly numb, Draco watched the byplay between the Griff and the headmaster, wondering where this would lead. It didn't take long, though, before Potter subsided and settled for silently glaring at the three interlopers. On the trip toward the Slytherin common room, however, it amused him to note that the continuing silent glare made them uncomfortable. _Well, good,_ he thought vindictively, _considering what they're doing, they should be uncomfortable._ What actually surprised him, however, was how _good_ it felt to have 'the Gryffindor Golden Boy' on his side of things for a change. He felt . . . vindicated. Some small part, deep inside him, healed at long last, made him feel that just maybe Greg and Vince's sacrifice had not been a waste, after all.

He shook himself free from the thought almost instantly, silently sneering at himself for the obvious need for . . . validation or some such nonsense. He was a Malfoy, of course it hadn't been a waste. Unfortunately, he was not as solidly sure of that as he would have once been. He stopped when the reached the Slytherin entrance, however. He was _not_ about to be the one to say the password to let them in. They were bloody well stealing from him. He certainly wasn't going to aid and abet! Let the headmaster do it. He could get anywhere in the castle he wanted to go.

x-x-x

"Just sign at the bottom, Miss Granger, and it will all be settled."

Blowing out a quick, forceful breath, Hermione leaned forward and put quill to parchment. "Done," she replied, leaning back. "Hopefully, this time, for real." _Please!_ She really was tired of one thing after another coming up that had to be dealt with -- despite how much she _really_ enjoyed getting one over on the ministry . . . legally. There was nothing they could do about what she'd done. She was perfectly within her rights to give her child a trust fund, and even go so far as to provide his parents with a stipend for taking the responsibility away from her.

She smirked. Not even Professor Snape had done anything illegal. He hadn't given any of the money to Draco, she had, and no one had thought they'd need any kind of vow to keep her from giving money to Draco. Not, she admitted, that she had the gall to actually give it direct to the Slytherin. That would have been pushing her luck just a little too far. As focused on stripping the Malfoy name of anything remotely resembling wealth as the ministry was, they would have found a way to get her in trouble for it. She frowned, a sudden, nearly nauseating thought occuring to her.

"Professor?" she asked quietly, mind whirling with what she could do that would prevent them doing to the baby what they had done to Draco. If they would do it to one child -- one that had proven to be on the side of the light -- why wouldn't they do it another, even more innocent child?

"What?" he asked curtly.

Hermione was just as glad the sneer had disappeared again. There for a moment, she'd thought it might be back permanently, and had wondered what she'd done this time.

"Is there any way that I can make the principal sum in the trust fund untouchable by _anyone_ for a specified period of time?" she asked, speaking slowly as her thoughts coalesced.

Professor Snape frowned at her, his eyes narrowing in thought. "I believe there is, Miss Granger," he replied after several moments. "That will have to be done at Gringotts, however, as the Goblins will not allow such magically binding contracts to be done via owl post."

Hermione nodded in growing satisfaction. "Good," she replied firmly, beginning to grin as her Professor continued to stare at her intently, as if trying to discern her motives. _Let him stew a bit,_ she thought, keeping her gaze firmly _just_ below actual eye contact. She had practiced Occlumency right alongside Harry -- secretly -- back in fifth year, but had never been tested, so she had no clue just how effective any barriers she managed to raise would be. There was something curiously . . . empowering about playing this very Slytherin game. Thanks to her many, varied, conversations with Draco, she understood Slytherins just a bit better than she ever had before. Not that, that was saying much, since she'd _never_ understood them before recently.

To give Professor Snape the information without him having to ask would maintain the gulf that separated them -- she the impulsive Gryffindor who gave out more information that was needed --disregarding, of course, that the information was actually wanted -- and he the sly Slytherin who got what he wanted without having to reveal his interest in the first place. On the other hand, if he did ask, not only would his interest in the answers be revealed, but also -- considering the subject under question -- the fact that he held some interest in how she thought. Last, but not least, the power balance would shift toward her _a little_ -- not that she had any intention of taking advantage of that. She just wanted to see if she could actually do it, hold out until his curiosity got the better of him.

_That and you want to know if he cares at all,_ her overactive mind told her snidely. She winced mentally, and forcefully ignored the potentially painful thought.

"I would like to arrange to go there and get that done before the baby is born, then, Sir."

Professor Snape's eyes narrowed again, and this time, Hermione thought she could see a hint of frustration showing -- just a hint, mind. Would he actually ask, she wondered?

Professor Snape nodded sharply. "Very well, Miss Granger. I will speak with the Headmaster about arrangements. We should be able to attend to this by this weekend."

"Great! Thank you, Professor." Very privately, Hermione wished she had the gall to ask the man to call her Hermione -- at least when they weren't in class. The headmaster often called Harry by _his_ given name. Even more, she wished she could call him Severus. These days, she hated, more and more, being reminded that they were teacher and student. Unfortunately, that perogative rested with him. As the older of them, it was his priviledge to grant or withhold such . . . familiarity. For her to try and usurp that priviledge would be seen as horrendous cheek at best, and absolute hubrus at worst -- neither of which would raise his estimation of her in the least. That was only one of the many, _many_ rules that Draco had explained to her about the 'unofficial' Slytherin ranking system. The ranking system had been one of even more things that he had explained after she'd asked him to teach her how to _be_ Slytherin -- well, at least to be able to act and think like one at need. She almost huffed in frustration at her thoughts. Slytherins were bloody _complicated_!

x-x-x

Severus eyed Granger intently. She was up to something. He knew it; beyond a shadow of a doubt, he knew it. She looked so very smug, sitting there, grinning at him. The 24 galleon question was; what was she up to? A trust fund, by its very nature, wasn't available until the minor child reached his or her majority. It was designed to make sure the money wasn't misused by those who controlled it, leaving the unfortunate beneficiary penniless when the time came. But why was the girl doing this now, of her own accord? Up until now, she had been adamant that Draco Malfoy would not do another about face, so he highly doubted that was her motivation. Unfortunately, the impertinant chit was keeping her mouth closed for once -- and contrary to every wish he'd had during the stubborn wench's schooling, that fact was driving him spare.

"You may go," he said suddenly, his tone just a bit sour. He had lost his chance to know why, when he hadn't told her immediately upon hearing her thoughts that they were completely unnecessary. That would have given him the opening to ask her motivations without cost -- unless, of course, his assessment was wrong. Unfortunately, having seen no way her intentions could cause harm (monetarily speaking) to the child she carried, nor to Draco, he hadn't. So now, there was no visible need for him to know _why_ she was doing it; he simply _wanted_ to.

Miss Granger blinked in surprise, obviously not having expected the sudden dismissal. "Yes, Sir," she replied easily; though she frowned slightly. Rising with some difficulty, she nodded to him before crossing the room toward the door. She already had it open when he spoke.

"Miss Granger?"

_What do you think you are doing?_ he demanded of himself angrily. _You are not going to ask! It's none of your business._

"Yes?" she asked, turning back toward him.

"What is it you seek to accomplish with this?"

_Stupid, stupid, stupid!_ he remonstrated himself. He knew better than to give in. If she was just a little more . . . aware of how Slytherins thought, he would have just handed her far more information than he was anywhere near comfortable with her having. He consoled himself -- as inadequate as that consolation was -- with the fact that she was too Gryffindor to understand what his interest in her motivations revealed about him.

She closed the door and faced him fully before she spoke. "I want to make sure the Ministry cannot do to this child what they're doing to Draco," she replied evenly; though delight danced in her eyes and twitched her lips upward.

He shifted uncomfortably as the expression grew more pronounced, thanking everything from Merlin's legacy to every deity that had ever existed that she was absolutely _not_ Slytherin.

"I want to make sure the main part of the money cannot be touched until he is old enough to have himself well established and able to fight effectively for his rights. Of course, that means that we'll have to arrange some kind of stipend or allowance to go directly to him once he comes of age. Oh! And to arrange for the fund to pay for any post-Hogwarts training he might desire."

Severus felt his jaw want to drop. He controlled the urge ruthlessly. "That's very . . . Slytherin of you, Miss Granger," he replied evenly. "I suspect you have been hanging around Slytherins far too much," he continued. _Certainly for my peace of mind!_ he exclaimed silently. Gryffindors; though, obnoxious, were absurdly easy to predict. A Gryffindor who learned Slytherin caution and forethought was to be feared. They would be an unknown quantity that would be difficult to understand, let alone predict. It was a frightening concept.

Granger's grin widened ridiculously -- obviously she knew a compliment when she heard one. "Thank you, Sir," she replied happily, thankfully reverting to true Gryffindor behavior. "My talks with Draco over the last few months have been very . . . enlightening. Some things are ever so much clearer to me now."

_I'll strangle the bloody ferret!_ Severus thought viciously, even as horror filled him about just what might be 'ever so much clearer'. Just what had that little brat been telling her about Slytherin secrets? How much had she learned? How much could she figure out from there?

Shrugging, she turned slightly and reopened the door. "I really should be going," she explained. "The boys will be waiting for me."

The door was closing behind her before his suddenly disorganized mind could come up with a suitable dismissal. He stared at the blasted door, eyes narrowed. He knew a strategic withdrawal when he saw one, especially one as . . . unsubtle as that one had been. Just what was it that she did not want to be questioned about?

He rose decisively and strode out of his office. He had a blond, Slytherin brat to speak to.

TBC  
Kiristeen ke Alaya  
Feedback: always adored and appreciated : )


	52. Chapter Fifty One

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Chapter Fifty One  
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Ron strode toward him purposefully, and Draco was a little disconcerted to realize he couldn't read the amazingly readable Gryffindor's expression. He shifted minutely as his fiance neared.

"The lake," Ron said abruptly, not slowing as he passed by.

Draco blinked, worry niggling its way into his thoughts. _What's gone wrong now?_ he wondered, even as he quickly launched himself after the much longer legged man. The pace Ron set didn't allow Draco to let loose any of his questions, and by the time they were out the front door his worry had morphed into fear. What was wrong with Ron? By the time they reached the lake, Draco had convinced himself he was about to be betrayed. It was what he'd expected most of his life. Why should now be any different?

The moment they reached the lake, Draco was ready to go on the offensive. Ron, however, spoke first, taking the wind out from under his broom.

Blowing out an explosive breath, Ron shook his head. "That was the absolutely _weirdest_ thing I've ever done," he exclaimed, then surprised Draco by chuckling.

Blinking, Draco shook his own head in a vain attempt to clear his suddenly muddled thoughts. "I don't understand," he replied evenly, beginning to hope that his increasingly morose thoughts from the walk had been wrong.

Ron laughed again, this time sounding a bit self-depreciating. "I've never even _thought_ about that much money, let alone seen it, or _held_ it, Draco." He shook his head again. "Take that starting point and go straight to carrying that bag -- that's probably worth as much as everything that's in it -- and desperately trying to find a place to put it that it would be completely safe. I mean, I trust my dorm mates, but I _do_ know that the wrong word in hearing of the wrong ear, and we have instant disaster in the making," he said, his voice carrying a very clear 'been there, done that'. "So, I figured no one was supposed to see it."

Draco nodded, agreeing that it was definitely best, but now he was beyond curious. "Where did you end up putting it?"

"Harry's trunk."

"What?!" Draco exclaimed, blinking in shock. "Why didn't you just put it in your trunk?"

"Wouldn't have been secure enough," he admitted with a shrug of his shoulders. "My trunk is crap. Not even good locking and warding spells would help much."

Draco frowned. "So buy yourself a new one," he said carelessly, giving a shrug of his own. It seemed an obvious solution to him.

"With what money?" Ron asked, this time his voice a bit sour.

Draco rolled his eyes at the thick Gryffindor. "The money you just took up there," he replied, trying to keep his voice as far from condescending as he could get it. It still wasn't easy, no matter what he felt for the Gryffindor.

"That's your money, Draco. I won't spend it."

Draco shook his head emphatically. "No, it's not," he replied firmly. "It can't be."

This time it was Ron who frowned. "Why?"

Draco nearly growled. They'd gone over this already. It wasn't fair to make him go through it again. "The ministry," he said flatly, hoping it was enough.

"I get why you had me hold it for you. Who would suspect a Weasley of holding Malfoy money, after all? I meant, why can't I just give it back, now that they're gone?"

"And if the ministry were to do another spot check?" Draco asked pointedly, going on to explain just how far they'd gone with Professor Snape. By the time he was finished with his explanation, Ron's mouth hung open in clear shock.

"Bloody hell!" he exclaimed angrily. "That's just not right!"

Draco snorted, though he wasn't amused. "Nothing about this is right."

"Good point."

"That money is yours now, Ron, yours to spend as you like. End of story."

"Just until we're married," Ron replied firmly, the beginnings of a grin curling his lips upward, a number of unidentifiable emotions flitting through his expressive eyes. "Then, it will be ours."

Draco couldn't have stopped the grin that formed on his own lips for all the money in Gringotts. _Well, maybe for that much,_ he admitted truthfully, but not much less. They both leaned forward, meeting halfway, their mouths opening almost on contact. A thrill shot through Draco as their tongues began a slow, erotic dance, all his worries from earlier melting away as he lost himself to the kiss. It really did still amaze him how much he reacted to a simple kiss. Letting his hands wander down his fiance's back, Draco was startled several minutes later when Ron pushed gently forward, and he found himself being lowered backward, supported by the hands on _his_ back.

He let out a gasp as the . . . oddness of it registered. Usually, he was the one in Ron's position. To be in this new one made him feel . . . vulnerable and it shot visceral heat through his belly, pooling lower. He moaned into Ron's mouth, inciting one from him as well.

Suddenly hyper aware of everything, Draco's senses latched onto Ron's hand as it caressed him, slowly working its way down his side. Not having done much more than snog up to this point, they were moving into new territory here, and it jumped his arousal up to a whole new level. He gasped as Ron gently squeezed his arse, fingers caressing the crease where his arse met his leg.

"Ten points--"

Draco and Ron sprang apart and leapt to their feet, gasping.

"--from Gryffindor _and_ Slytherin for subjecting me to that entirely inappropriate public display," Professor Snape snapped, his smirk not quite hiding his distaste.

"Sorry, Professor," they both replied, neither of them able to maintain eye contact. As for himself, Draco was sure he was as red as the Gryffindor house color. He'd broken the Slytherin's cardinal rule -- never get caught. Of course, the fact that his godfather had just caught him snogging, had absolutely nothing to do with that.

He sighed. Prior to this year he'd only been caught once while sneaking around, and that by Filch's bloody _cat_! Since he'd taken up with Ron Weasley, only Professor Snape had, and he'd done it three times now! He was beginning to believe the rumors that said his godfather put a tracking charm on all the Gryffindors of Harry's year, just so he could catch them out! It really was the only explanation for why he almost _always_ seemed to be there whenever things began to get hot and heavy between himself and Ron. It was one of the main reasons they hadn't managed much more than some nicely intense snogging, a state of affairs that was very much _not_ to Draco's satisfaction.

"You and I have something to discuss, Mr. Malfoy," Professor Snape drawled, a very dark look glinting from his eyes.

"Yes, Sir," he replied evenly, his thoughts automatically searching through the last couple of days for what his the Professor wanted to speak with him about. He couldn't think of anything as he followed the swiftly striding wizard. "Later, Ron," he called back, hurrying to catch up.

He was no closer to figuring out just what the discussion was going to be about by the time they reached the professor's office, and he gave up trying. It would help, he supposed, if he knew whether it was the professor or his godfather that wished to speak with him. It would certainly narrow down the list of possible subjects.

He jumped as the door slammed shut behind them, the professor locking it before he strode over to his desk to sit down.

"Now," Professor Snape began, waving a hand at the chair across from him, "just _what_ have you been discussing with Miss Granger about Slytherins, Mr. Malfoy?"

_Bloody hell!_ Draco thought in panic, keeping his expression as bland as possible. _What's he know?_ He shrugged, an attempt at nonchalance. "She said she knew what motivated Gryffindors and Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs were fairly easy. She didn't have a clue about how Slytherins thought and wanted to understand."

"I see," Professor Snape drawled, eyes narrowing. "And just what do you get out of the exchange?"

Now, Draco shifted uncomfortably. He wasn't terribly proud of what he got out of the equation. It wasn't exactly a very Slytherin set of circumstance. He sighed. There was nothing for it. The professor certainly wouldn't let it go; Draco knew that from long experience with the man. "I get someone to talk to about . . . things."

"Things?"

"Yes," Draco replied, slightly exasperated, "things." He really didn't want to go into details. It was embarrassing. The kind of things he and Hermione talked about, he didn't feel comfortable talking about with blokes -- not even Ron -- and he _really_ didn't feel comfortable talking to an _authority_ figure about it, godfather or not.

Professor Snape eyed him through narrowed eyes for a several eternal moments before he spoke again. "So, have you yet figured out how Gryffindors think, then?"

Draco's eyes widened in shock, his mind whirling with why the professor would want to know. Of course, it could be as simple as the man taunting him for going to a secondary source for 'understanding' Ron, but Draco didn't really think so. _Merlin's beard!_ he swore silently, even as he tried to figure out just how to respond, how much to reveal about what Hermione had learned. Draco certainly didn't think that this conversation would end with what he had learned about Griffs.

He smirked. "A little," he admitted.

By the time he left his godfather's office, and it had been his godfather, not his professor, he'd been speaking to by then, Draco was fairly certain Hermione had been right all along, and she _had_ made the jump from student to friend -- at least. It was knowledge he wasn't sure he wanted, nor knew quite what to do with. Of course, Hermione would be interested in it, but was equally sure that Severus Snape wouldn't leave him living if the man found out he'd revealed that little tid bit to the Gryffindor.

He was just stepping out of the dungeons when he finally came to a decision. He wouldn't say anything directly -- that would definitely not be in his own best interests -- but he would stop discouraging her in her desire to understand the man. He did, however, intend to have a private discussion with the blasted Gryffindor; his involvement in all this was was _supposed_ to be kept quiet!

It took him entirely too long to find her, and by the time he did, he had a full head of steam going. He marched up to her, ignoring both Ron and Harry's presence. "You weren't supposed to tell him I was helping!" he hissed, keeping his voice just quiet enough that no one else in the library, beyond those at Hermione's table, could hear him.

Harry and Ron frowned, looking confused.

Hermione gasped. "What?"

"Do you really want me to be more specific, _Hermione_?" he asked pointedly.

"Not really," Hermione hissed back, her eyes flashing angrily. "I simply meant, I hadn't said you were helping me with _that_, so I don't know what would make you think I did."

"Oh, nothing much," Draco drawled sourly, dropping into a chair across from her, "just the interrogation I got from my godfather about letting out 'Slytherin secrets' to Gryffindors."

Ron and Harry laughed, much to Draco's disgust. He rolled his eyes at them, his intent gaze not leaving the Gryffindor across from him.

"Oh!"

"Oh?" Draco exclaimed quietly. "That's all you have to say, 'oh'?"

"Sorry?"

Draco growled.

Hermione shook her head. "Look, I didn't say anything about _that_, honestly. I wouldn't. It would tip _my_ hand, after all."

Draco nodded. That did make sense, but still.

"He complimented me for 'very Slytherin thinking'," Hermione whispered, leaning closer, "accusation style, said I 'must be hanging around too many Slytherins'."

"Sounds like him," Draco admitted with a small laugh, his anger beginning to fade now that the chit was explaining what happened. Hopefully, it wouldn't come back. He'd begun to think of the girl as a friend and didn't want to lose that because he couldn't trust her word.

She shrugged then. "I just said we'd been talking, and that I understood things I didn't used to."

"That's all?"

"Yes, Draco," Hermione confirmed, "that's all. I swear."

Draco nodded once. "Okay, then," he replied, "that's alright, I suppose. You couldn't have known he might take that wrong, I suppose." He smirked then. "You _are_ only a Gryffindor, after all."

"A chorus of 'heys!' met that pronouncement, and he laughed, even as Madam Pince shushed them.

"All set then?" Ron asked, looking between the two of them.

They shared a glance, then both turned to him and nodded.

"Good," Harry said, leaning forward. "So, you going to tell us what that was all about? What's he teaching you?"

Draco frowned.

Hermione shrugged. "How to think like a Slytherin."

That wasn't so bad a reply. It was the truth, but didn't really tell them sod all. She really was learning.

Harry blinked, frowning a little. "Why would you want to do that?"

"It _is_ a superior way to think, Potter," he said haughtily.

Ron snickered and Draco glared at him sourly.

Hermione just rolled her eyes at them. "So I can understand them better. I am friends with a couple, after all."

From there, interspersed with actual studying, all four of them fell into easy bickering about just which style of thought was actually superior to the other. When the library closed for the evening, they had got quite a bit of NEWT studying done, but hadn't managed to reach a consensus about Slytherin vs Gryffindor thinking. Though, Hermione had come up with a very good point. Both styles of thinking had their place. Some circumstances required Gryffindor impulsive bravery and others would be best served by Slytherin cunning.

That moved Draco's thoughts onto just how one would predict a Slytherin with Gryffindor tendencies, or perish the thought, a Gryffindor with Slytherin tendencies. He thought, once again, that Gryffindors just really _might_ be contagious, because he shared the thought.

Harry and Ron laughed, predictably.

Hermione, though? She smirked. "What do you think you're teaching me to be?" she asked.

Draco's eyes went wide as he watched her waddle off. "Bloody hell!" he exclaimed.

Both Ron and Harry were glaring at him.

"What?" he asked, slightly defensive.

"You've doomed us all!" they chorused.

Draco groaned, letting his head impact the table. "I have, haven't I?" he mumbled, wondering just where his own 'Slytherin thinking' had been when he'd agreed to help Hermione understand Professor Snape a little better. _On vacation!_ he told himself sourly. _No doubt about it. That's where it was._

TBC  
Kiristeen ke Alaya  
Feedback; pretty please. : )


	53. Chapter Fifty Two

Hinata: LOLOLOLOL . . . ummmmm yes, she is -- are you psychic? It's the beginning of May and she's due midmay ---- as you can see just a bit below, however, the baby has other plans.  
AN: I have no idea how goblins would talk, so please forgive if their grammer here sounds too . . . human. : )  
Everyone: Thanks _so_ for the wonderful reviews, questions, and concerns. You've made my day. Most of the questions that came up will be answered, some sooner than others. WARNING: Graphic description of child birth in this chapter.  
SEE additional AN at the end of chapter. : )

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Chapter Fifty Two  
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Hermione was up early Saturday, down in the kitchen's kipping a small breakfast. Today, Professor Snape was taking her to Gringotts to make the trust fund more complicated. No way was the ministry going to steal her child's future! She blinked, dropping her fork onto her plate with a clatter. 'Her' child? She gulped. When had he gone from 'the parasite' to 'her child'? Hadn't it been less than a week ago that she was panicking because she'd realized she'd have contact with him on a fairly regular basis? She shook her head, not able to understand her sudden switch; though, she supposed it was good enough that she wouldn't be the one responsible for his well being. Even if the thought of even _seeing_ the child no longer sent shudders of revulsion through her, she still didn't think she'd be capable of actually caring for him properly.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione smiled. Maybe she hadn't made a terrible mistake making friends with the person who was going to adopt him, then. It was with a far lighter heart than she'd had of late that she rose, thanked the house elves, and headed for the front entrance. She still had half an hour until the professor was due to meet her there, but these days, slow and slower were the only speeds she had and she wanted to give herself plenty of time.

By the time she reached the entrance hall, Hermione was out of breath and fed up. She just _really_ wanted this over with. She shook her head as she sat down on the bench closest to the front doors. _At least,_ she told herself silently, _I don't have to do that ridiculous rocking any more._ Just yesterday, Madam Pomfrey had told her, not only had her son turned over into the proper position, he had also dropped. She had to admit, that last was definitely a mixed blessing. It was far easier to breathe, now that the baby was so pressed up against her diaphragm, but now, walking at all was a chore. It didn't help that the backache that had plagued her off and on for the last two months was back 'on' with a vengeance.

She was saved from further ruminations by Professor Snape's timely arrival. He was carrying the bag he'd 'given' her three days ago. She'd left it in his office, as a safer location than her room. As he neared, she struggled to her feet, wincing as she did so, her back protesting the renewed movement. She made it to her feet by the time he reached her, frown firmly etched on his face.

"Are you alright, Miss Granger?" he asked.

She nodded. "Just a backache, Professor, not unusual, or so I'm told."

The professor nodded, but his frown deepened. "Perhaps this should be put off until you are . . . feeling better."

Hermione huffed a soft laugh. "I'm due in two weeks, Sir. My back is only going to get worse, not better."

"Very well," Professor Snape replied shortly, nodding once. "Get moving, then."

Clamping down on the corner of her mouth that wanted to twitch up into a smile, Hermione nodded as she turned toward the doors. "Yes, Sir," she replied, continuing as she began moving. "I feel I should warn you that I won't be able to move quickly. Tortoise slow is my best speed these days."

"Wonderful," Snape drawled, sarcasm rich in his tone. "Wait here," he ordered bruskly, the moment they were out on the grounds.

Hermione blinked in surprise as she watched him stride off toward Hagrid's hut.

Ten minutes into her wait, Hermione began looking for somewhere she could sit that wouldn't require magic, or a large crane, to get her back up. Both her feet and her back were loudly making it clear that they did not appreciate her standing for any length of time. Before she could do much of anything about it, however, Professor Snape returned. To her surprise, he didn't return alone. Hagrid followed _with_ a thestral drawn carriage.

Utterly bemused at the thoughtfulness, Hermione allowed herself to be assisted into the carriage. Allowed, of course, was something of an exaggeration. She wasn't entirely certain she _could_ have climbed inside without the help. Once they were settled, however, Hermione altered her thoughts on 'thoughfulness', to expediency.

"Using the carriage will prevent the need to spend all day on this errand," Professor Snape said shortly, settling himself on the bench across from her.

_Oh!_ Well, that made more sense, she thought to herself. Snape and thoughtfulness didn't really go hand in hand in her mind; though, she supposed she could be selling him a bit short. After all, it wasn't the 'Slytherin way' to appear to solicitous of anyone. The expediency could simply be his reason for doing what he wanted to do anyway. Shrugging mentally, she figured she would probably never know. At least she benefited from it, and, at the moment, that was good enough for her. She _really_ hadn't been looking forward to walking all the way to Hogsmeade so they could floo near Gringotts. She wouldn't get out of walking from where ever they floo'd to Gringotts, as Gringotts didn't allow direct flooing -- for obvious security reasons. Side-along apparation was out, because that _really_ wasn't advisable during pregnancy. She sighed and allowed her attention to focus on the passing scenery.

x-x-x

Hermione shook her head as they walked up the steps to Gringotts bank, wanting to rub her lower back. Professor Snape had remained mostly silent for the trip, the only exceptions being to give her directions into the shop they were flooing from, and the destination name for the floo itself.

Once inside, however, Professor Snape took over, and they were seated inside a private office within minutes, the holding bag sitting on the floor between them. It was only by the barest thread that Hermione didn't let out a sigh of relief upon sitting. It eased the stress on her back considerably. Unfortunately, the pain did not go away entirely.

"What business can the goblins do with you today?"

Professor Snape cocked an eyebrow at her and smirked. Apparently, the ball was in her court. She took a deep breath to steady herself and leaned forward.

"Mr. Griddlorn, there are a couple of things I need to accomplish today," she began. "I need to make some adjustments to the trust fund I've set up for my baby to avoid any possibility of Ministry . . . interference."

Griddlorn stiffened. "The ministry has no control over the funds stored in Gringotts, Madam. Goblins control Gringotts."

"I'm sorry," Hermione said immediately. "I meant no offense. I was given to understand that Gringotts and the Ministry had some sort of agreement that under certain circumstances, assets of individuals could be frozen, essentially taken from the owners."

"The only circumstances under which such an occurence could happen would be if the owner of the vault or vaults under investigation were to be convicted of crimes deserving of a life sentence in Azkaban or the dementor's kiss."

Hermione frowned. "Then how--" She cut herself off. "Never mind, it's not really important." She thought a moment about how to phrase her request that would not insult the goblin further. That was the last thing she wanted. She knew from her studies that goblins, once truly insulted, would become very difficult to deal with; not that she blamed them really. Goblins, along with most other nonhumans, had gotten the short shift for the most part; though goblins had come out better than most over the years, thanks to their financial genius -- and their firm control on the wizarding world's banking system. An idea hit her rather suddenly.

"I don't fully trust the ministry in these uncertain times not to . . . manufacture evidence against . . . certain families they have . . . problems with," she said carefully.

Griddlorn nodded. "It has been tried before," he said. "Gringotts is most aggressive in making sure that evidence presented to us is accurrate before we act in accordance with our agreement with the ministry."

The goblin's tone left Hermione in doubt about the fact that the goblins -- at least _this_ goblin -- didn't trust the ministry either. Unfortunately, after what had happened to Draco, she wasn't about to fully trust the goblin's 'aggresive' policies completely, either.

She nodded. "Understandable," she replied, thinking quickly, "I simply wish to make sure the bank won't have to go to those lengths. I want to make the principal money in comprising the trust fund is _completely_ untouchable. I don't want it to 'belong' to anyone until . . . my son inherits it at 30 years of age. That way, the ministry won't be able to activate the agreement they have with Gringotts even if they _do_ make up convincing evidence."

_God, she hoped this worked! She felt like she was talking out her arse._

"The money won't _be_ his until he is well old enough to defend himself against scurrious claims."

The goblin grinned then and Hermione wasn't entirely certain whether she wanted to grin back . . . or run. It was a scary sight with all those sharp teeth. "I understand, Madam, and Gringotts will be happy to assist you with this endeavor.

Hermione did grin then. "I will, of course, wish to make provisions for monthly sums to be given to his guardians for his care until he comes of age, and that money to be provided to him once he does."

For nearly an hour, Hermione and Griddlorn negotiated exactly what she wanted; though Griddlorn did suggest a couple of ideas that Hermione accepted quickly. They certainly secured the account even better than her ideas alone. There had only been a moment of concern when Hermione had begun detailing the amounts she had wanted paid to first guardians and subsequently her son.

Hermione blushed. "Sorry, I forgot to mention that I will be making a rather large deposit today as well."

"How much?"

Smiling sheepishly, she indicated the bag next to her. "I'm not exactly certain how much is in here, but I want to deposit the entire amount."

When the goblin's smile grew appreciably at that, Hermione blinked in surprise.

"Forgive my possible impertinance, Madam, but is _that_ one of the bags that Mr. Dumbledore removed from the main Malfoy vault?"

Hermione's eyes widened and she cast a worried glance to Professor Snape. She supposed she should have realized Griddlorn might have picked up on that, given the extreme rarity of true holding bags. Thankfully, the professor intervened for the first time since they'd sat down.

"That is something that we would much rather _not_ be known by anyone," he replied.

Hermione almost laughed. The professor had answered the goblin's question without actually saying it outright, and at the same time indicated the secrecy with which they wanted the knowledge kept.

The goblin picked up on it immediately, of course, and hastily assured them both that clients privacy was of utmost concern to the bank, and they would never breech that trust, and after calling in three junior goblins to count and catalogue the contents of the bag returned to the contract sitting in front of him.

"Now," Griddlorn said, sounding very satisfied with the transaction thus far, and pushing the contract across the desk, and handing her a small, sharp looking knife. "A simple drop of blood on the bottom of this parchment will be all that's needed to complete the paperwork and bind the money for 30 years."

Hermione nodded, wincing at a sharp spike through her lower back as she leaned forward. Accepting the knife, she placed a small cut on her left index finger and let a single drop of blood drop onto the bottom of the parchment. She watched in amazement as the blood magically swirled, forming her full name, looking as if she had signed it by her own hand.

By the time the niceties had been exchanged and they were outside the office, the three junior goblins had finished with the holding bag, impressing her with their speed -- and Professor Snape as well, if she was any judge. When she looked at the small parchment they handed her, her eyes widened in shock. That was just a _bit_ more than Professor Snape had indicated. _Wow!_

"If you will follow me, Madam, I will take you to the vault that was set up to accomodate your child's trust fund."

Hermione's eyes widened, picturing her 8 1/2 month pregnant from on one of those ridiculously fast trolleys, and balked. "If he is willing," she began, casting a questioning glance at the professor, "I would much prefer that Professor Snape deliver it." She shrugged, and vaguely waved to indicate her rather obvious belly. "I wouldn't be comfortable on the trolley at the moment." She didn't even want to be standing, let alone take a ride on zooming roller coaster! She really didn't think it would do her back -- which was once again vehemently protesting her upright position -- any good at all.

Even before Professor Snape could respond, the goblin was shaking his head. "Due to the way you wished the account to be set up, you are the only witch or wizard with access to the vault. _You_ only have access to it until your child is born. Afterward, no witch or wizard may enter for 30 years, and then, until recognized by the vault, only your child will have access. In fact, until he is recognized after his 30th birthday, not even a key is enough to gain access. He must come personally and prove his identity."

Professor Snape stepped forward, frowning. "I will not allow her to go alone."

The goblin nodded. "You may go with her, you merely cannot enter the vault itself. The protections will prevent it."

Hermione was glad he was going with her. At least with him along, she might not tense up quite so much. She could only hope, anyway. She _really_ didn't like roller coasters!

x-x-x

Severus released a sigh of relief when the trolly slowed to a stop. He never had liked these damn things, and right now, they seemed downright dangerous. After the first turn, he'd been surprised to find his arm wrapped tightly around the Gryffindor's shoulders, keeping her from sliding around. Even more surprising was the fact that she hadn't protested in the slightest. She had, in fact, grabbed on to him as fearing for her life. It had felt uncomfortably good.

The goblin clerk accompanying them was already out of the cart, ready and waiting.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, he quickly removed himself from the trolley, taking the holding bag with him. The moment his feet were on solid ground, he turned around and assisted Miss Granger out as well. He frowned when she winced. She was also trembling noticibly, something that couldn't be good for a stressed back.

"Thank you," she whispered. "I hate those things almost as much as I hate brooms!"

"Your vault is right this way, Madam," the goblin said and walked away, clearly expecting them to follow.

They did so, Severus picking the bag back up.

"Place your hand right here," the goblin instructed, pointing to a smoothly worn spot on the stone door that was about the size of a palm. "You will feel a slight prick when you do. After that the vault will recognize you."

Miss Granger nodded and stepped forward, doing as instructed. He smirked when she jumped the moment she had.

It didn't take long after that to get the contents of the holding bag into the vault. He carried it as far as the door and then handed it to Miss Granger. He almost laughed as she merely walked to the back center of the vault and upended the bag, slowly stepping backward as more and more 'treasure' spilled out. By the time the bag ceased dropping coins and other valuables, she was standing 2/3 of the way back toward the entrance. It truly was impressive to see the amount that had been contained in the deceptively small, light bag. Miss Granger echoed his thoughts quite adequately.

"_Wow!_"

He snorted, making certain no one present believed he might actually agree. Miss Granger cast him a dark look, but didn't say anything. She simply shook her head and exited the vault. She slumped when the came within sight of the cart.

"Is there anyway out of here _besides_ the cart?" she asked, not sounding like she held out much hope.

"No, Madam," the goblin replied, already climbing on board the cart. "For security reasons, the carts are the only way in and out of the vault areas."

She had only taken one more step toward the cart when she doubled over, crying out.

Severus was there in an instant, supporting her as she sank down to the cold stone floor. He didn't think it was a good idea, but she was on her knees before he could form his protest that the cart would surely be a better place to rest -- cleaner, certainly.

"Owww!" she whimpered, clutching her abdomen.

"What is wrong, Miss Granger?" he asked sharply.

Her eyes widened suddenly and filled with a look he could only interpret as panic.

Even as she spoke next, he figured out the problem as his knees felt fluid soaking through his robes.

"The baby's coming," she whispered.

"It can't!" he exclaimed, then snapped his mouth shut, hopefully cutting off any further idiotic statements. Even he knew it was useless to protest. Babies came when they wanted to, not to anyone else's convenient time table. He bent forward, fully intending on physically lifting the witch to the cart. They needed to get to Poppy.

Miss Granger cried out again, the sound followed rather abruptly by a fresh flood of fluid. He winced and aborted his attempt to pick her up.

"Oh, God! I need to push."

Absolute horror filled Severus as it hit him. She hadn't just meant she was in labor, she meant the baby was coming this very minute! He whipped his head to the side to stare at the Goblin. "We need a mediwitch," he snapped shortly. "Please send someone to Hogwarts to get Poppy Pomfrey here right away." He'd have . . . _suggested_ the goblin do it himself to save the wasted time to find a gobetween, but he knew damn well it wouldn't do any good, and they would waste more time arguing than to just do it this way in the first place.

Miss Granger cried out again and began panting oddly, regaining his instant, worried attention. He barely noticed when the cart departed, the goblin aboard. "What are you doing?" he demanded, his worry making him even sharper than he intended to be.

She didn't answer, merely glared at him as she continued panting. A full minute or so later, her breathing evened out and her entire body relaxed against his arm. "Read about it. Lamaaz book. Helps to keep from pushing."

He nodded sagely, as if he knew just what she was talking about. Inside, however, he was panicking. Was she supposed to push or not? He had less than no clue. He wasn't a bloody mediwizard!

"I'm scared, Professor."

Severus blinked in surprise. It was the first time he'd ever heard a Gryffindor admit to such a thing. Why did it have to happen when he was already scared out of his mind? The feeling made him defensive and he sneered in response. "Such a _Gryffindor_."

"Please, don't," Hermione whimpered, making him wince, crying out as she tensed again.

"I'm sorry," he whispered fiercely. _Where the bloody hell is that mediwitch!?_ he thought frantically.

Hermione started panting again, only this time she didn't continue. She seemingly convulsed once, then curled up away from his supporting arm.

"Don't push!" he shouted, the moment he figured out what was happening. Pushing would make it come faster. It couldn't come until Poppy arrived!

"Can't . . . Not."

Which Severus interpreted as meaning she couldn't not push.

"Pant, Hermione," he urged, rubbing her back. _**Please!**_ "You said it helped."

_I have to calm down!_ he told himself sternly. _I can bloody well lie to the Dark Lord's face, but I panic in the face of child birth!?_

Hermione suddenly relaxed against his arm. "Baby doesn't care anymore," she breathed. "Can feel it."

"Feel it?" he yelped, clearing his throat immediately after, hoping that Hermione was too . . . involved to notice his loss of dignity.

She nodded. "Yes," she replied. "Part way out," she huffed as she shifted onto her bum, bending her legs until her knees were almost pressed to her chest.

She growled then, twisting oddly.

"_What_ in Merlin's name are you doing?"

She growled again, beginning to pant. "Can't . . . get . . . knickers . . . off!" she gasped in between her rapid, nearly panicked breaths.

Severus froze. "What?!"

She didn't respond, curling up like she had before, her entire body trembling with effort. The moment she relaxed, however, was a different matter entirely.

"WELL!" she screeched at him. "Are you just going to sit there like a bump on a log or are you going to _HELP_?"

"I don't know what to do except try to keep you calm," he replied, trying to sound patient, not something he'd exactly had a great deal of experience with.

"Get my blasted knickers off!" she snapped, apparently beyond anything remotely resembling embarrassment. She reached down and hiked her robes up to hip level and delved under them, but didn't seem to be able to do what she wanted.

"I can't believe this is happening," Severus muttered, mostly to himself, as he reached down and . . . assisted, looking only enough to make sure he didn't touch anywhere more intimately than absolutely necessary. There shouldn't be that much blood, should there?

"_YOU_ DON"T?" she screamed at him. "I was _supposed_ to have this baby in the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey right there!" She mumbled something he couldn't hear under her breath.

"What?" he asked, absently, too worried about the blood to pay close attention. He briefly considered asking her, but didn't want to panic her more than she already was.

"I _said_," she replied tightly, "if Lucius Malfoy were here right now, I would rip his bollucks and dick off and shove them up his arse so far they'd stick out his mouth!"

_Ouch!_ Severus thought, wincing the moment what she said fully registered.

She curled up again, this time her hands wrapped around her bent legs, pulling them back up to her chest. "Play catch," she growled through clenched teeth, saying nothing more until she finally relaxed back against his arm.

_Play __**catch**__?_

"Damn it all, Severus!" she snapped angrily. "Get your arse down there and bloody well catch the baby!"

He could feel his face heat even as he tried to remember the last time he'd come even close to blushing. Numbly, he shifted her so her upper back was inches from the wall and moved. He was truly going to have to talk to the girl about her language . . . later . . . sometime."

_You'll pay for this Poppy Pomfrey!_ he vowed silently.

"Merlin!" he breathed in shock. Hermione was stretched incredibly wide, the baby's blood covered head plainly visible, pushing its way out. _That bloody well has to be painful!_ he thought in horror, suddenly rather profoundly grateful he'd been born male. He felt himself grow light headed and nearly growled, himself. Now was _not_ the time to pass out!

The moment she recurled and began pushing again, the baby's head slipped out and Severus hurriedly reached forward, supporting it. He wasn't entirely certain what to do, though, now that he had hold of the slippery thing. Was he supposed to actually pull a bit? The way things were now, Hermione had closed around the baby's neck. That _couldn't_ be good. Frowning in concentration, he pulled very gently, and between the two of them -- her pushing and him pulling -- the shoulders slowly emerged.

Severus almost yelped when the moment the shoulders fully cleared Hermione's body, the rest of the baby slipped out and into his waiting hands. He stared in absolute shock at the screaming infant for several seconds. He held a brand new life in his hands and for a moment he was at a complete loss -- again. He was actually getting used to the feeling; it had happened so often in the last twenty minutes or so.

Shaking himself suddenly, he lay the baby on Hermione's chest and shrugged out of his robes and covered both Hermione and the baby with them. He was startled as Hermione tensed again and began pushing. _She's having twins!?_ Severus thought indignantly. _She never told me that!_ Then wondered if the cord from the baby that still reached inside her would get in the way. Desperately hoping he was doing the right thing, he reached forward again and gently pulled on the cord.

It pulled easily, but what came out after, nearly had Severus leaning to the side and separating himself from his breakast. _**That**__ is not a baby,_ he thought, even as he frowned deeply at the gush of blood that followed the mass of soft, bloody flesh. He wished he dared cast the healing spells he knew, minor or not, they would do at least a little good. Unfortunately, it wasn't allowed, and Gringotts had sufficient protection spells in place to make sure magic didn't _get_ used. He would do Hermione no good at all unconscious -- or worse.

"Oooo," Hermione moaned softly, "dizzy."

Severus snapped his head up at her words, his worry deepening. He met her eyes and saw _knowing_ there. His chest tightened painfully, fully realizing there wasn't a damn thing he could do.

"I'm bleeding, aren't I?" she asked; though, it was as much statement as query.

He hesitated briefly, then nodded once sharply.

"Tear in uterus," she said, her eyes tearing up.

Severus heart clenched. He'd forgotten about that. If he'd remembered, he would have deposited her in the cart regardless of her reaction.

"Make sure that everyone knows I wanted Draco to have him," she choked out.

"Don't!" Severus snapped, unreasonably angry at her. "Don't you give up! Madam Pomfrey will be here soon."

Hermione shook her head, the glint in her eyes hard despite her tears. "This child belongs to Draco Malfoy, by right of adoption!" she declared firmly. "Make sure the world knows that is my wish!"

"Are you a Gryffindor or not?" Severus sneered, outwardly disdainful. Inwardly, however, he was fighting tears of his own. Where the hell was Madam Pomfrey? "I thought Gryffindors never gave up!"

"So tired," she whispered, closing her eyes.

"Don't you dare go to sleep, Hermione!" he shouted, shaking her shoulder, lightly so as not to dislodge the now quiet infant. She didn't respond. She was breathing, though.

The cart sounded behind him and Severus launched himself to his feet, only to bend back down and scoop the unconscious girl into his arms. He strode swiftly over to right beside where the cart should stop and set Hermione down again.

The moment the cart came into view, he began informing Poppy what had happened, shouting to be heard.

The very instant the cart stopped, Poppy was out of it and kneeling next to Hermione.

"Take the baby, Severus," Poppy said shortly, pulling potions out of her bag. "I've got to get the bleeding stopped."

Severus did so automatically, his eyes never moving from Hermione. "Don't you dare die, Hermione Granger!" he whispered fiercely, holding the baby to his chest. _Don't leave before I get the chance to tell you how I feel, damn you!_

Never before had Severus so wished to have just a tiny portion of the famed Gryffindor style bravery. If he had, he would have already told her.

TBC  
Kiristeen ke Alaya  
Feedback: It's like air to my muses! Please give them what they crave. : )  
AN: I won't make you wait a week for the next update, I promise!  
AN2: There are only two more chapters after this one. It won't completely tie everything up in nice tidy package, but then, is life like that . . . ever? : ) I am thinking a sequel will be a good thing at some point, but it will be a while before that happens. I've got several (read a couple dozen) other stories in the works, that I'd like to get at least a few of posted before I take this back up again.


	54. Chapter Fifty Three

**Hinata:** by the end of last chapter, yes, it was still attached. Severus didn't cut it, and Madam Pomfrey was far more concerned with getting Hermione's bleeding stopped.  
**Toranoko:** No doubt of that, : ) I'm looking forward to letting one of my other babies out.  
**Tracy:** Ooooooooo!!!! Good question! I actually partially deal with her statement (by implication -- don't blink you might miss it. LOL) in this chapter and outright in the next, but didn't think of the goblin angle at all. ::Grins:: I'll really have to keep that in mind when I get to the sequel. ::Already has a couple of ideas spinning because of your review:: Thanks!  
**Snakegirl:** LOLOL yes, I've had three. And all three worth it, despite the frequent irritation factor. But, she was outside the vault by the point she gave birth. She had already rejoined Professor Snape, who couldn't go inside the vault itself. I have to agree with the ewwwww factor for the other though. EEWWWW. LOL  
**Mamajmarie:** Thanks! I actually modeled it on the labor of my oldest daughter's grandmother. She had been in labor all day and hadn't realized it, she'd just had a worse than normal backache. Hermione's reactions, though, were all mine. LOL By the time I got to the point where Hermione was when she was fighting with her knickers, I wouldn't have cared if the philharmonic orchestra and a news crew had tromped through the delivery room. Embarrassment? What's that? Of course, I was much nicer to her than what I went through. hehe. I wasn't one of the 'lucky' ones.  
**Elvish:** Thanks! : ) They couldn't very well be stupid, could they? LOL  
**Everyone who reviewed:** Thanks so much for your encouragement! There have been times I really needed it to keep going.  
**To anyone interested:** Look for "Hidden Truths" after this story is finished. It's the next story I'm putting up. : )

**AN:** And finally in this chapter we finally get back to Harry's POV, for those of you who were wondering how he was actually fairing. : ) Others -- in the story -- had noticed prior to now that Harry has been withdrawn and quieter than usual -- at least some of the time, but what with various levels of preoccupation, their attention keeps getting drawn away from him and back to themselves. I don't remember what chapter it was, but Hermione talked with him for a bit, and for a moment was drawn outside her own worries. It got pushed aside again, however, as other, seemingly more pressing, matters took her attention away. Hope that helps those who were wondering about the seeming ease with which Harry seemed to move past Ginny's death/spirithood/death.

**AN2:** the name of the baby, I blatantly stole (well, the first name, anyway) from DH; though, this story remains -- quite obviously -- very au from that book, as well as HBP.

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Chapter Fifty Three  
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Severus stumbled slightly as the portkey released them directly in the infirmary. Potions had helped Hermione enough that they could afford the time to transfer her and the baby to a place where Madam Pomfrey could use direct magic to finish the healing process. Severus just hoped they were in time. Magic may be far in advance of most muggle medicine, but there was still only so much it could heal.

"Please get the baby cleaned up, Severus," Poppy instructed, not taking her attention off the girl she was levitating into a bed.

The moment Hermione was settled on the bed, Poppy had her wand out and set to work.

It took every ounce of Severus' considerable willpower to turn his attention away from Hermione and onto the baby. The moment he unwrapped the infant, however, he frowned. Turning toward Pomfrey, he opened his mouth, but closed it before asking his question. He didn't want to take any of her attention away from her patient.

_So,_ he thought with a mental shrug, _I do it the hard way._ He didn't know whether or not magic could be used on newborn babies -- most potions certainly couldn't be -- and he wasn't about to use it without being absolutely certain. What he knew about babies could _maybe_ fill a thimble! Making sure the baby couldn't fall, he hurried to collect cloths and water. He debated some sort of mild soap, but _did_ know that babies' skin was notoriously fragile, so decided against it. He had absolutely no clue where he'd heard that, but figured it was better to be safe now, rather than sorry later.

As he began gently wiping the blood and muck off, an actual pink-skinned baby began to emerge from under it all. He was especially careful around the clamped umbilical cord. Apparently it would take a couple of days to finish healing . He was just glad that Poppy had already taken of _that_ back at Gringotts. He would have had trouble cutting off _anything_ still attached. There was more than one reason he was a potions master, _not_ a mediwizard!

He was nearly done when the infant decided to take exception. He started crying like someone was trying to kill him. Not knowing what else to do, Severus set aside the washcloth and wrapped him in one of the big, fluffy towels and picked him up. He sat almost immediately, afraid he was going to drop the fragile looking baby. The baby didn't stop hollering, so Severus was quite sure he wasn't holding him right. Maybe he was hurting him. He shifted his hold, but it didn't seem to help.

"He's probably hungry, Severus," Poppy called out, not removing her attention from Hermione.

_Hungry?_ he thought incredulously. All this fuss because he's hungry?!

He called for a house elf.

"What can Dobby do for Potions Master?" the elf asked, bowing, then noticed Hermione's child. "Oh! Yous is having a baby! Is you wanting Dobby to take care of baby?"

Severus blinked. He hadn't thought of that. "No, thank you, Dobby," he said, even before he'd fully thought about it. He well knew -- Who didn't? -- Hermione's views on house elves and did not think she would appreciate it. "What I need you to do, is get a warm bottle for the baby, then go to H-- Miss Granger's room and get the green bag. It's also for the baby."

"Yes, Sirs, I be doing that now."

"Wait."

"Yes, Sirs?"

"After you've brought that back, I need you to fetch Mr. Malfoy," he ordered, paused, then added, "and Mr. Weasley."

Dobby nodded again, snapped his fingers and was gone. It took Dobby all of two minutes -- the baby screaming bloody murder the whole time -- to bring back a bottle. No sooner had the elf handed it to him, it was gone again. Seconds later, the elf popped back, left the bag and was gone yet again.

Severus snorted, then set his mind to trying to figure out how to hold the baby and feed him at the same time. He only _had_ two hands! Despite how long it seemed what with the baby's cries, it really didn't take him long to get the baby cradled in one arm and the bottle held in his other hand.

Silence reigned and Severus breathed a sigh of relief. Well, he supposed it wasn't quite silence. It seemed the baby wasn't exactly a silent eater, smacking and slurping the milk down quite greedily.

"What in Merlin's name are you doing, you manic elf?!"

_Just in time,_ Severus thought, smirking at both Draco and Mr. Weasley, both of them looking a little disgruntled to be virtually kidnapped by an elf. The over-enthusiastic elf probably hadn't even told them _why_ he was snatching them.

"Mr. Malfoy," he said quietly, causing both boys to snap their heads around and stare.

"Professor!" they exclaimed.

"What's going--" Draco's words abruptly cut off and his eyes widened as he caught sight of the baby. He swallowed heavily, taking a wary step forward. "Is that. . . ?"

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy, it is your son."

"My son," Draco breathed, incredulous.

"Wow," Weasley mouthed, then frowned. "Wait a minute," he exclaimed. "Why wasn't anyone told when Mione went into labor?"

Severus snorted, but was beaten to a response by Poppy.

"Because, Mr. Weasley, he was so impatient to arrive, he couldn't wait for Miss Granger to get back to Hogwarts let alone wait to give us a chance to notify anyone."

Weasley's jaw dropped.

"May I hold him?" Draco asked, as Severus spoke.

"Sit down, Draco."

He sat down quickly, co-opting the nearest bed, not bothering to go find another chair.

Severus rolled his eyes as he stood and carefully walked over to his godson, gently placing the baby in his arms. The moment the nipple left his mouth, however, the infant began to holler.

"What's wrong with him?" Draco asked, sounding quite panicked. "Am I holding him wrong?"

Severus would have smirked, but the very fresh memory of him thinking the exact same thing kept him from doing so. He knew _exactly_ how scary it was to hold such a tiny, fragile thing. "A little," Weasley said, "but that's not why he's crying."

Both Draco and Severus turned to stare at him.

"What?" Weasley asked defensively. "In a family that's as likely to have another baby as not, it's a good idea to learn a thing or two about them."

Severus backed off then, quirking an eyebrow and handing Weasley the bottle.

Grinning, Weasley joined Draco on the bed, and carefully instructed him how, exactly, to hold a newborn. It didn't really take long before the bottle was back in the baby's mouth and blessed near silence once again reigned.

At that point, Severus turned to Poppy. "How is Miss Granger doing?"

"As well as can be expected," Poppy replied. "She's resting right now."

"Something went wrong?" Weasley asked, sounding panicked, his head snapping up quickly.

Neither Severus, nor Poppy, answered.

Severus dodged around her and headed straight for her bed. He heard Weasley's protest as Poppy prevented him from following, for which Severus was grateful. He smirked at her next words, however.

"Now, you two, as soon as the little one is finished with that bottle, I'll just make sure you both know how to burp, diaper and dress an infant. Which one will go first?"

After that, he tuned them out, intent on making sure Hermione really was still in the land of the living. It had been far to close a call for his comfort. Not that he truly doubted that Poppy would have told him if she was still in danger; he just had to see for himself that she really was going to be all right.

x-x-x

Harry came bolting into the infirmary. After he'd called the house elf, Dobby had told him where he'd taken Ron and Draco. It hadn't taken him but five minutes to arrive from Gryffindor tower after that. He skid to a halt, his jaw dropping. Draco Malfoy, rich boy, snob-extraordinaire was _diapering_ a baby. It boggled the mind. Beside him, Ron was grinning wide enough that Harry was sure the corners might actually be touching his ears! He stood silently watching them tease each other, Madam Pomfrey instructing them in the fine art of changing a baby.

His heart clenched as he watched. This, more than anything yet had, brought home to him just how much he'd lost when Ginny had died. He had only just started to think about things like this a couple of weeks before the final battle. After she'd died, he'd pushed it all away, not wanting to acknowledge it, not wanting to burden others with what he was feeling, not beyond the first couple months, anyway. Everyone had been grieving then, and it was okay to grieve right along with them. Then, everyone else had started moving on, being happy, and he hadn't felt he had the right to inflict his grief on anyone. Who was he supposed to talk to? Ron? It was his _sister_ for God's sake. Harry certainly didn't want to reopen those wounds. Hermione had enough of her own troubles.

Who was left? Draco? Harry smiled sadly. He couldn't see himself confiding _this_ to the blond, despite how much he had helped when Harry had been hearing her. That was concrete -- sort of -- this wasn't.

He didn't even notice he'd been crying until Ron turned and saw him.

"Harry!" Ron exclaimed happily, then frowned.

Harry hastily wiped off the tears and nodded, grinning despite how he felt. It was easy to be happy for Ron and it was certainly better than feeling sorry for himself. "Is that him?" he asked, finally stepping closer.

"Yeah," Ron said, nodding, his grin widening even further -- if that was remotely possible.

"In between the three of you," Madam Pomfrey said, chuckling, "you can figure out how to get his clothes on him. Just you mind what I said about supporting his head, and wrapping him up to keep him warm."

"Yes, Ma'am," Ron and Draco replied, nearly in unison.

"So," Harry asked as Poppy moved away, "what are you going to name him?"

Draco and Ron shared a look, then grinned.

"Scorpius," Draco said.

"Arthur," Ron said.

"Weasley-Malfoy," they finished together.

Harry blinked. It was almost like being in the same room with the twins. "Good name," he replied absently. He watched the three of them for a moment, then his attention drifted to Hermione. He slowly rose and quietly walked toward her bed. He didn't want to alert Madam Pomfrey, since he wasn't sure if they were allowed to come over yet, but he had to make sure she was okay. He froze as he caught sight of her bed. Snape was sitting beside it, _holding her hand_! He blinked and rubbed his eyes, but the scene didn't change.

Oddly numb, he continued to watch. _When the bloody hell did that happen?_ he wondered incredulously. Suddenly, the conversation in the library, about Hermione learning to think like a Slytherin took on a _whole_ new level of meaning. He frowned and started getting angry, then, rather abruptly, his anger derailed. Who was he to deny her happiness -- or the professor for that matter. Life was too short to waste on petty hates. He may not like Snape much -- though, he liked him more now than he used to -- but, then, he wasn't the one apparently getting involved with him.

After debating with himself for several minutes, he continued forward slowly. "How is she, Professor?" he asked, and jumped when Snape jerked his hand back, launching himself to his feet.

"What are you doing, Potter?" he hissed.

For the first time, Harry recognized where the professor's anger was coming from, and didn't automatically leap to the defensive. "It's alright, Professor, I get it," he said. "I won't say anything. I just want her to be happy."

The professor stared at him through narrowed eyes for several -- very long -- moments, before nodding once sharply and sitting back down.

Harry stepped closer, repeating his question quietly.

"That tear inside her? It opened during delivery," Snape told him, his voice so quiet that Harry had to strain to hear him.

He gasped sharply.

"She's going to be okay, but it was a very near thing. I-- We were down at the vaults, where I couldn't use magic to help her."

Harry winced, half wishing he'd been there, half profoundly grateful he hadn't been. It would have been horrible to have to sit and do virtually nothing. He'd had to do that too many times already. Sirius as he fell through the veil. Hermione when she disappeared. Ginny when she was calling out to him. None of those times could he really do anything to help. Failing Hermione like that a second time would have been hell.

He blew out a breath and slowly walked to the chair on the opposite side of Hermione's bed. "At least she'll be okay, now," he said finally, wishing he knew what else to say. "You got her help." He fell silent, then. Nothing that anyone had said to _him_ had helped, and figured that, maybe, with the professor, it just might be better not to say anything at all.

A gasp had both of them snapping around, only to find both Ron and Draco gaping at them. Well, Ron was gaping, Draco was just staring wide-eyed.

"Bloody hell," Snape muttered and it was Harry's turn to gape. He'd never heard this particular professor swear, not even when he was spitting mad.

Snape rose abruptly, and strode away. He made it as far as Draco before the blond reached out and touched his arm -- the only one of the three of them who would have dared, Harry was sure. "You should tell her," he said quietly, no less firmly for the lack of volume.

Snape stiffened visibly. "She's a student," he snapped. "It isn't appropriate."

Ron frowned and bit his lip, and Harry winced, trying to keep most of it internal. He was certain that what Ron was thinking about saying was _not_ going to be good.

"Seems to me there's only two weeks left of school, and you never know when it'll be too late and a bloke'll have lost his chance forever."

Harry gasped, barely keeping himself from tearing up. He had been wrong. Apparently, they had _all_ done some growing up in the last several months. "He's right, Professor," Harry added.

The professor growled at them, sneering, but the expression was cut short when Hermione moaned, gaining the instant attention of all four of them.

"Keep quiet!" Snape snapped at them, striding back to the bed. "Get Madam Pomfrey, Potter."

Harry took off at a run.

x-x-x

Hermione blinked, the familiar ceiling of the infirmary slowly coming into focus. _I'm alive!_ was her first coherent thought. Her second was acute humiliation. She had all but _ordered_ Professor Snape -- of all people -- to remove her knickers! She didn't think she'd ever be able to face the man _ever_ again! She gasped. "How's the baby?" she asked suddenly, finally noticing Madam Pomfrey hovering over her.

"He's fine," Professor Snape said, startling her, not really having expected him to be there when she woke up. She blushed hotly and looked away; not before she noticed his unholy smirk first, however. She frowned, not that she had actually expected to wake up, stuck, as they had been, in the bowels of Gringotts when she'd passed out. She wished she knew what had happened -- beyond the obvious that Madam Pomfrey had arrived in time.

"He's with the unholy three."

_Who?_ she wondered, confused.

"Misters Malfoy, Weasley, and Potter."

_Oh._ "What happened?"

"That can wait," Madam Pomfrey ordered. "You need to rest, Miss Granger. I've successfully healed the tear in your uterus, and you shouldn't have any trouble with it in the future."

Hermione nodded. That was good news. She may not want children now, but she did want the option open should she choose to have one or two later. There was just something about not being _able_ to have children that didn't sit well, despite the fact that she had no interest in them at the moment.

"You were given a general healing potion and an energy stablizer to help you recover from the birth, but you will still become easily tired for the next couple of days."

"That explains why I'm not sore," Hermione said with a half-smile, beginning to feel a part of the world again.

Madam Pomfrey nodded, smiling back. "I also gave you a blood replenishing potion to compensate for your loss of blood, but until that has run its course, you will become light headed easily. So, for the next day or two don't stand up too quickly, move too quickly, or become too energetic."

"Yes, Ma'am," Hermione replied, nodding again. She wasn't really worried about that, she was just worried about needing to study, the NEWTS were only a couple weeks away. _Oh!_ She turned to Professor Snape. "We need to sign the paperwork," she said.

He nodded. "I will make sure Mr. Malfoy stops by later today."

"Just after dinner," Madam Pomfrey interjected firmly. "She's to have no visitors until then."

Hermione started to protest, but a strong glare from the mediwitch silenced her.

"You almost died, young lady. You will rest until this evening," she ordered, handing her yet another potion.

Hermione frowned. "Dreamless sleep?" she asked. "I can rest without this."

Madam Pomfrey's eyes narrowed and she stared for several long moments before nodding sharply. "All right," she said. "I'll give you one chance. If it turns out you can't sleep, however, I will insist."

Hermione nodded emphatically. She really didn't like to sleep drugged up, not if she didn't have to. And she _was_ tired, more tired than she should be, considering she had just woke up. She turned to speak to the professor, only to find him already gone. She frowned, disappointed.

TBC  
Kiristeen ke Alaya  
Feedback: Yes, please! : )


	55. Chapter Fifty Four

AN: Warning, this chapter gets a little sappy. LOL

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Chapter Fifty Four  
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Draco cast an uneasy glance at Ron at the door to the infirmary, Scorpius cradled in his arms. And he thought he'd been surprised by what he felt toward Ron. He shook his head looking down at the tiny life he held. He didn't think he would want to live without Ron, but even that feeling was eclipsed by what he felt for his son. It was overwhelming and more than a little frightening. Shaking himself free from its grip, he looked back over at Ron, who had remained silent, letting him work through it all. He smiled and handed the child to him. "I think it might be better if Scorpius doesn't come in with me, at least at first," he said quietly. "I'm not sure if Hermione will want to see him yet, if at all."

Ron nodded. "Go do your thing, make sure the world knows he's yours."

Draco grinned, then, feeling a little giddy at that. "Ours," he replied, ducking into the infirmary before Ron could say anything in response. If Ron said anything Gryffindorishly sappy--

_Like you hadn't already,_

--he wasn't certain he could maintain a proper Slytherin demeanor.

_You mean you might cry like a girl._

Draco ignored the thought, focusing instead on the girl he'd come to see. Hermione was sitting up in bed, looking incredible for not only just having given birth, but having almost died as well. "Glad to see you doing so well," he said as he approached, his increasing nervousness all but completely hidden -- or so he hoped. He'd never been as good at that as his--

She finished what she was chewing and grinned at him. "I'm doing okay," she replied. "I've slept enough for an entire week today alone. That thought by itself is enough to make me want to get out of bed and do cartwheels."

Chuckling, Draco hopped up onto the bed next to hers. "You ready to do this?" he asked, then glanced down. "Do you still _want_ to do this?" he continued hesitantly, his heart clenching in his chest at the thought that, having seen the child, she might not want to give him up after all. Not that he could blame her for not wanting to, but he thought he just might go back to hating her if she didn't go through with it. The thought alone hurt more than he could stand. He already loved Scorpius. He didn't want him to be his half-brother, raised by someone else. Draco wanted him to be his son.

Hermione nodded, still smiling, and something tight and dark relaxed inside him. Reaching into the small table beside the bed, she pulled a hefty stack of parchments out from the drawer. Taking a quill from on top the table, she looked back over at him. "Have you named him yet?"

He nodded. "Ron and I did it together."

"Well?" she asked when he didn't continue.

"Scorpius Arthur Weasley-Malfoy," he said.

Her smile widened instantly. "I bet Arthur got a kick out of that!" she exclaimed.

Draco ducked his head sheepishly. "He doesn't know yet," he replied.

"Why not?"

Draco shrugged, uncomfortable. "Both Ron and I figured it should wait until it was all legal-like. We-- Ron -- didn't want to get his father's hopes up, only to have them dashed if it didn't work out."

Hermione frowned, her eyes boring into his. "Why would you think I would back out?" she demanded huffily.

Again he shrugged, not wanting to give Hermione ideas, but knew he had to be honest. If he didn't, the bloody Gryffindor might back out on principle. He still didn't completely understand Gryffindor reasoning, and really didn't want to take the chance. "Deciding to give him up before holding him is completely different than actually doing it _after_ holding him," he admitted softly. "Believe me, I know."

He frown deepened. "He didn't tell you?" she demanded, seeming angry now.

"Who tell me what?" he asked, confused.

Hermione sighed, shaking her head. "I thought I was going to die down there, Draco," she said, her expression sad.

Draco's eyes widened. That would have been frightening.

"I made what I _thought_ was a deathbed declaration. "I told Professor Snape to make sure the world knew I wanted my child to be with you, to be your son through adoption."

Draco jaw dropped in shock. "That means--"

"He's already yours by magical vow."

Swallowing past the sudden restriction in his throat, Draco nodded slowly. It was mind boggling. He had a son!

Smiling, eyes dancing -- at his reaction, Draco could only presume -- Hermione signed the upper most parchment with a flourish, handing both the parchment and the quill to him afterward. "It'll be official the moment you sign it," she said. "He'll be yours, legally, as well as magically."

Hand shaking, he noted absently, Draco freshly dipped the quill and signed the parchment himself. The moment he did so, it glowed, rolled up -- magically sealing itself -- and disappeared with a quiet _pop_.

"All done," Hermione said firmly. "Now, I want you to bring my honorary nephew in to meet me properly," she said, grinning. "I wasn't in quite the frame of mind to appreciate meeting him before."

Surprised, Draco snapped his head up to stare at her. "Are you sure?" he asked.

Hermione nodded. "I wanted to wait until after I'd signed the paperwork, but, yes, I'm sure. He was inside me for almost nine months, Draco. I don't hate him, just what he represents. Besides, Ron is one of my best friends, Draco, and you, you're fast moving up the charts. I made my peace with him being part of my life over the last week. As long as he's not my responsibility, I'm happy."

Slightly bemused, Draco nodded decisively. "Okay, then," he said as he hopped off the bed and strode to the door. The moment he opened it, he signalled to Ron to bring Scorpius -- _his son_ -- inside.

Grinning, Ron did, walking straight to Hermione's bedside.

Gamely, Hermione held out her arms and Ron handed Scorpius to her.

To Draco, watching from the other side of the bed, it seemed that her smile became a little strained, but she looked up at Ron, then him, a hint of tears in her eyes.

"He's beautiful," she said softly, then looked back down to the baby in her arms. "You're the first generation of a better world," she whispered to him, as if confiding a profound secret. "Born out of a world of hate and bigotry, you will usher in a world of peace. You certainly helped put the kibosh on a centuries old family feud."

"Hey!" both he and Ron protested.

"I think the two of us had something to do with that," Draco continued, applying all his old pureblood snobbery to the effect.

Hermione laughed. "Yes, you did, but this one cements it. He's officially of _both_ families." She shook her head, then. "Now, one of you take Scorpius here; we've got some things we need to talk about."

After all four of them were settled, Hermione picked the remaining parchments back up, quickly writing something on the first page, then handing them to Ron. Draco couldn't very well hold them; he had Scorpius.

"I've arranged a trust fund for Scorpius," Hermione began, sounding very . . . official all of a sudden. "The principal amount will remain in goblin hands until he turns 30. Until that time, it belongs to no wizard. It technically is on lease to the Goblin nation, at a rate of 10% per annum. Those things that the goblins determine to be family heirlooms, will be held outside that, not earning Scorpius anything, nor the goblins."

Draco could feel his jaw dropping as she spoke. No wonder Professor Snape had accused her of thinking like a Slytherin. This was positively machiavellian. There was no way the ministry could get a hold of it, even if they carried the grudge over to the third generation -- not for thirty years at any rate -- and by then, Scorpius should be able to fight the ministry if it tried anything. Adults had so much more power than children -- or those close enough as makes no nevermind.

"On the third page, you'll find the information that affects the two of you."

"Us?" Draco asked as Ron flipped to the page Hermione had indicated.

She nodded. "Yes," she replied abruptly. "I've arranged a monthly stipend for his care providers," she continued, pausing and smirking before speaking further, "whoever they may be."

Draco frowned. "Save it for Scorpius," he said, shaking his head. "With what Professor Snape was able to save for me, and what I gave to Ron, we'll be more than fine. You couldn't have put that much into it and--"

"Shut up, Draco," Hermione said drily, sending his eyebrow arching up in shock. "I assure you Draco, there is more in there than you think. The totals are on page two, if you wish to look."

Ron flipped back a page. "Bloody hell!" he breathed, saving Draco from the undignified reaction.

"Where'd you get this?" he demanded. "Surely you didn't use this much of your own money?" That didn't make any sense.

She smirked again and he narrowed his eyes in response, suspicious. "You remember that second bag?" she asked pointedly.

Draco laughed.

Hermione nodded sharply. "Professor Snape gave it to me," she told them. "Well, I certainly didn't want anything to do with it, so I added it to the trust fund. Before that, it didn't have nearly that much in it."

"Sneaky," he praised, honestly impressed. He also caught the fact that some of the funds had come from somewhere other than the bag. He wondered just where, but didn't feel he could ask.

"Professor Snape certainly thought so," she replied, somewhat smugly. "Now, back to page three. As I said, I've arranged a stipend," she continued, going on to explain the monthly amounts until he came of age, and her provisions for his post Hogwarts schooling and living expenses.

Scorpius wasn't even 48 hours old and he was already set for life. Draco smirked. It was poetic justice of the sort that he could truly appreciate.

The three of them remained for another half hour, simply talking, before Madam Pomfrey chased them out.

"Miss Granger needs to rest," Madam Pomfrey told them firmly. "Out."

It only took them a couple of minutes to say their goodbyes and leave Hermione to the tender mercies of the school's mediwitch. Unfortunately, it was a well known fact that she didn't have many.

x-x-x

Severus stepped forward after he was absolutely sure Weasley and his godson were gone for the evening -- and that Poppy had retreated into her office. "Made peace with it, have you?" he asked sceptically, knowing full well there was no way she'd gone straight from panic to happy acceptance in less than three days.

She shrugged. "Close enough for government work," she replied, turning to face him, for all the world looking as though she'd known he was there all along. "I may not be there completely yet, but I will be."

Severus smirked, remembering another conversation from what seemed eons ago. "In other words, you're lying through your teeth and hoping like hell that if you pretend hard enough it will eventually _be_ true."

She barked out a belly level laugh and shook her head. "Yeah," she replied, "something like that."

"Oh, I think it's _exactly_ like that," he accused. He paused and pulled up a chair next to her bed, taking the time to order his thoughts into coherent words, despite the fact that he'd been trying to do that since he'd arrived in the infirmary twenty minutes previously. "Have you given thought to what you're going to do after graduation?" he asked casually and watched as her eyes widened in complete shock.

"Yes, actually," she replied several seconds later. "I'm debating between going for a mastery in transfiguration, arithmancy, or potions."

"And I suppose," he said drily, "you've _already_ recieved a multitude of offers."

She shrugged. "A couple."

Severus snorted. "Stop with the false humility, Miss Granger," he sneered, "it doesn't suit you."

She laughed, leaning forward in obvious growing excitement. "I've already applied to several places and people. The wizarding branch of Duke has approved my transfiguration application, Oxford has approved me for arithmancy. Harvard medschool has approved my potions application. I've also looked into taking an apprenticeship in one of the three. I've received invites to interview for all of them; two for transfiguration, three for arithmancy, and one for potions."

Part of him winced in defeat. She had so many options, and it seemed that potions was low on her list of priorites. He wondered if she'd even had a passing thought to him as a potions master.

"Unfortunately, I'm not sure I want any of those," she continued.

He frowned. "Why not? I don't know which masters you've applied to, but the three universities all have excellent programs."

"I know," she replied, shifting restlessly. "It's just, I feel like--"

Feeling like he was losing out, without any option for rebuttle, his calculatingly cultivated defenses came rushing to the fore. "What? You feel you're going to find something better than the best universities in the world? That you're too good for them?" he sneered.

Hermione stiffened, then straightened her shoulders and met his gaze squarely. "Quite frankly," she replied firmly, "yes."

"With who?" he demanded. "Who is this _paragon of virtue_ who's the only one good enough for the _great_ Miss Hermione Granger? he snarled angrily, not entirely sure why he was angry in the first place.

_Oh, you know you're jealous,_ his thoughts taunted. _She knows she has better choices than you and you're bloody well jealous!_

"You."

Severus blinked, rearing back in his shock. "What?" he demanded. How dare the chit taunt him like that! "You never applied to me for an apprenticeship," he accused. "So don't--"

"In all the years you've been teaching," Hermione said, cutting him off, "you've never taken a single apprentice."

"What?" he asked again.

_Great!_ he thought sarcastically. _Now, she's got me repeating myself!_

He was thrown far enough off balance that he completely forgot to scold the brazen chit for interrupting him.

Sighing, Hermione shook her head. "You're intolerance of all thing Gryffindor is well established, Professor, our recent . . . civility notwithstanding; I didn't think I had a chance."

"So," he taunted, "famed Gryffindor bravery is only for situations that could get you killed?"

"Of course not," Hermione huffed. Then, her eyes narrowed, the glint in them far too calculating for comfort. "I can't win for losing, can I?" she asked. "I thought maybe you'd approve my . . . cautiousness."

He rolled his eyes. "If both sides of the equation use too much caution, nothing will ever get done," he replied.

"So, you're finally admitting that Gryffindor boldness has its place?" she asked, smirking now.

"I never said any such thing," he denied automatically.

Her smirk grew. "So, maybe it was, 'nothing ventured, nothing gained'?"

He snorted. "I _suppose_ I just might be willing to admit that might possibly be a valid theory." He pulled himself up to his full height, raising his chin haughtily. "I will deny it to my dying breath, however, if you breathe a word about it to anyone," he informed her. "And I do hope you plan to cease speaking in cliches some time very soon," he continued dourly. "It is quite trite."

"Well, then," Hermione replied, grinning broadly now, "I shall seize my Gyffindor boldness by the throat and venture forth to gain what I want."

Severus rolled his eyes, groaning. He'd created a monster by admitting anything at all, that's all there was to it! How was he going to survive the experience if she really did put forth an apprenticeship proposal to him? He wasn't entirely sure he would, but knew it would be better than the alternative of her disappearing from his life completely. He rose then, fully intending on leaving. He made it all of three steps before twisting to face her.

"I really thought you were going to die yesterday," he said quietly. _What are you doing?_

"So did I," she replied just as quietly.

Taking a deep breath, Severus finished the turn so that he faced her fully. "When Poppy arrived what I thought was too late, I held one regret above all others," he confessed, not remembering a time when he felt so very . . . vulnerable, that he had _willingly_ made himself so; though the last major conversation the two of them had, had in the infirmary had come close.

"And what was that?" Hermione asked softly, her eyes searching his.

"That I hadn't told you how I felt."

Hermione gasped, but didn't cut him off. He didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. If she'd cut him off, then, at least, he could get out of here without actually saying it.

"I-- You're . . . important to me," he said finally, carefully searching for the words to say enough, but not too much. He may be willingly going out on a limb here, but he didn't intend it to be _too_ thin of one! "I didn't-- don't want to lose the . . . friendship that seems to be developing. I would miss it," he concluded, spinning on his heel and striding for the door--

_Be honest! You're bolting!_

--without giving her a chance to respond. He heard her anyway, and her reply warmed him.

"Me too."

THE END -- For now  
Okay, they're not quite together as a couple, but at least they admitted there is _something_ there. : )  
When the sequel comes -- and I warn again that it will be a while -- we'll take care of the loose ends, things like Draco and Ron's home that Professor Snape is going to buy them. Draco and Ron's wedding, Hermione's apprenticeship (You really think he's going to turn her down at this point? LOL) and their burgeoning relationship finally free of her pregnancy and adoption issues.

Thanks everyone for sticking with me through two separate year and half long interludes without internet connection, muse strikes, and various other problems. I hope it was all worth the wait. It certainly felt good to reach a point in the story that could be considered an ending. This is now, officially, the longest story I've ever written; the second longest being a buffy/highlander crossover called "things that go bump in the night", its sequel Cause and Effect being a close third -- or maybe the last two are the other way round. LOL.

Every single review helped urge me forward, and I've treasured them all!

Kiristeen ke Alaya  
Feedback: Pretty please with cream and sugar on top!


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